Gregory House, M.D. (every1_lies) wrote in notlupus_rpg,
Gregory House, M.D.


(As promised, the NL prequel posts with House.  Takes place over two months ago...)


Winning Fire: Cameron was probably the most worried about their boss when he was shot. She was, after all, the one who suggested they take turns staying with him, to make sure he was alright. One could never be sure a nurse would be near enough, after all, if something were to happen.
This wasn't to say that Chase was averse to the idea. They were all worried about their boss - it wasn't every day someone walked in and shot your boss. Twice. One of the bullets had severed the jugular vein, which was reason for a lot of worry. Even Foreman was concerned - though he wasn't keen on showing it; then again, neither was Chase.
So he had, half-reluctantly, taken the seat near House's bed, a medical journal open on his lap. It wasn't all that interesting, sitting there making sure that the guy who shot House didn't come back to finish the job.
scruffylies: The return to awareness was a slow process for Gregory House, and one with which he was intimately familiar. Perhaps that should have caused an anxiety layered deep in his subconscious mind to ping awkwardly, but he was so far from himself that it didn't even brush across the radar. Later, he would recall vivid dreams and gauzy memories during his incapacitation, but for now he had only the vaguest of sensations as his body readied the transition into consciousness. Not unlike an engine warming up on a cold morning.
It happened in blurry stages: The beginnings of light. Distant sounds. Warmth. Below all this hummed the faintest whispers of pain, but House could not feel it. Not yet. The drugs being pumped through his body were making sure of that. But soon, there would be pain.
Brighter light, quiet sounds, warmth... there was a hitch in his breathing and his eyes blinked open.
Winning Fire: Chase probably wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't in intensive care, but he was used to keeping an eye on patients for the slightest of changes in their condition. It was part of the job description.
He closed the journal around his finger, to keep his place in case it was a false alarm. He thought briefly of getting a nurse, but if House woke up without trouble, it wouldn't be needed. "House?" He asked, careful and not too loud in tone.
scruffylies: Another blink. His eyes narrowed, focusing on... Chase. Huh.
House tried to think of a snappy comeback to the question, but his brain was still caught in a fog. He settled on what was supposed to be an annoyed groan but came out much more like a dry cough. "Chase," he responded hoarsely; a clear statement, not a question.
Winning Fire: He nodded. "Yeah." A brief pause, considering what, if anything, he should say next. He didn't think House would be thrilled he was there. "You were out for a long time. Don't try to move any."
scruffylies: Managing a pretty good eye-roll, he lifted a hand to his cheek -- pointedly ignoring Chase's... suggestion? order? -- and dragged it down to his chin, testing the growth of his stubble. A frown cut lines into his forehead. He clarified, half to himself, half to the younger doctor, "Days. I was out for... over a couple of days." His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.
Winning Fire: "..makes sense, you were shot twice," he said, shrugging a little. He was less concerned now that he saw that House was conscious and.. well, still House. It was quite the relief. Especially after the ketamine thing.
scruffylies: "Twice, huh?" House looked thoughtful, his eyes slightly unfocused, staring now at a point on the ceiling. He moved his hand down on top of the blanket, palpating his abdomen, pushing down hard enough to make pain ghost just over top of... well, whatever drugs they had given him.   "I only remember getting clipped in the side," he mentioned casually, reaching to scratch his cheek... fingers brushing over a bandage at his neck. He lifted an eyebrow, aimed at Chase, to fill in the blanks with the appropriate information.
Winning Fire: "Your neck.. the bullet severed your jugular vein," he supplied the information readily, in a manner that differed only slightly from his usual tone when dealing with a patient of his own. "Cameron thought you were dead. You got lucky." His tone was a bit kinder than usual. He had thought that, too.
scruffylies: "Cameron thought I was dead?" A smirk. "Did she cry? I bet she cried." House opined, internally struggling to shake the weariness out of his brain and the weakness from his limbs. Jugular... he'd lost a lot of blood. He began to push himself up on his elbows.
Winning Fire: Well, if there were any lingering doubts about House's mind being intact, they were gone now. He shook his head, and didn't comment on whether or not Cameron had cried - it was a pretty obvious answer. Of course she had; she was Cameron. But she had the grace not to do it in front of Chase and Foreman.
"You shouldn't do that," he said when he saw House going to sit up. "You're still not healed enough to be moving around."
scruffylies: House returned his gaze to Chase, a 'no-duh' look painted elaborately across his features. "Well, I'm doing it anyway." His voice was sounding much clearer, much more irritated. "Get me another pillow and tell me about the first gunshot wound."
Winning Fire: Now it was Chase's turn to roll his eyes. "Right," he said, standing and setting down the magazine on the chair. He did as he was told, getting a pillow from a vacant bed and giving it to House. He was good at following orders, what? "The bullet in your abdomen went through your stomach, just grazed your bowel, and stopped when it hit a rib. The surgeons were able to get it out, though, and whatever damage they didn't fix will heal on its own."
scruffylies: "How delightful," House grumbled, taking the pillow from Chase with a slight nod before shoving it behind his head and adjusting his shoulders. Pain was making itself more apparent, and his head swam from the simple action of... well, he wasn't quite sitting up, but at least he wasn't quite lying down. House gritted his teeth slightly as his neck protested a slight movement.
He asked the question that had lain half-formed in his mind since he woke up: "What the hell are you doing in here, anyhow? Not enough work? You could be doing my clinic hours." His voice was a little rough, even with the almost bored tone, and it seemed like House was honestly interested in the answer.
Winning Fire: Chase sat back down in his chair again, moving the magazine to a nearby table. He didn't think that it would be a good idea to admit he'd been worried about his boss - House would likely never let him live it down. He was fairly sure his concern was obvious simply by the fact that he had deigned to stay there, but..
"Cameron was worried about you. Asked me to stay and make sure nothing went wrong," he said. It was the truth, after all.
scruffylies: House, growing weary, listened to the brief explanation. Well, that sounded like Cameron, all right, but...
It took him maybe a few seconds longer to put it together than it would have if he hadn't felt groggy, but it all added up in the end: Chase's casual, kind tone... hell, the fact he was there at all. The severity of the gunshot wounds. The amount of time he'd spent unconscious.
One corner of his mouth twitched upwards, but his voice was even as he said, "Aha. So you thought Fearless Leader was a goner, too." Again, House's tone didn't lend itself to questioning; he was stating a conclusion he'd reached.
Winning Fire: A pause. He shrugged, finally said, "I didn't think you'd die of something like that." A little bit of a lie - there was a while there when he thought House was going to die. Frankly, the whole situation had been just a little bit terrifying - not only because he was worried about House (he was), but the idea that someone could just walk into the hospital and shoot a doctor...
"You're too stubborn to die just because some guy tries to make you," he added.
scruffylies: The upward twitch briefly became a grin; he knew he'd been right. Seemed like he'd worried a lot of people. Which would be touching if he cared about that sort of thing. Which he didn't. Not really.
House only responded to the last statement, half-surprised it hadn't come up in conversation before. "Speaking of 'some guy'..." he prompted, waiting again for more information. It was an unwelcome change to be the one asking the questions, but he wanted to be as informed as he could be, before he... well, maybe fell asleep again. He was feeling a little fuzzy, but at least the pain was still manageable.
Winning Fire: "He.. got away." Chase was a little more uncomfortable here, knowing that this was one of those very bad things that no one wanted. A murderer being out on the street was bad enough. A murderer with a vendetta against House being out on the street was.. well, worse. "Nobody knows who he is. The police are looking for him, though."
They had, after all, been distracted from catching him by the fact that their boss was on the floor, bleeding. Bleeding quite a lot. Chase was used to wounds, but it was one thing for the injured to be a stranger; it was quite another when it was someone you knew.
scruffylies: All the visible traces of weariness that had started to leak through House's usual banter vanished. He bolted upright quickly, though rather awkwardly, his hands on either side holding himself steady. He ignored entirely the sudden sharp pain in his side.
"He got away?" House nearly bellowed. "With all the security in this place, he got away?!"
Winning Fire: Chase visibly winced at that. "I dunno how he managed it, just... he did." A helpless look for almost a moment. At the time, he didn't remember even being aware that the man with the gun had left the room. What had registered in his mind? House had been shot, there was blood on the floor. Not much else, not for several minutes.
"The police.. got a sketch of him, and they'll find him," he muttered.
scruffylies: "Oh, so they can't catch him, but he has time to pose for a portrait," House sneered, but he was quickly running out of steam, breathing heavily. His own memories of the time of the shooting were currently vague at best: some guy came in -- did he know him? -- House had been in the middle of tossing off a comment... then sharp pain, blood, noise... nothing. 
Sweat beaded his hairline. God, he felt wiped out. This was worse than waking up from surgery the last time... what the hell had they given him? How much blood had he lost? These seemed like significant questions, ones House felt he should be able to guess the answers to, but it was still too soon.
Winning Fire: "No.. Foreman got a look at his face before he got out," he explained, shaking his head, then added, "You should lie back. You'll tear your stitches."
He remembered feeling a little guilty when he didn't remember the shooter's face well enough to tell the police anything, but he obviously wouldn't mention that to House. When he got better, his boss would never let him live that one down.
scruffylies: Even as House groaned, "Look, I'm not dying, I'm not going to tear my stitches," he let himself sink backwards onto the pillows and was silent for a long moment.
Finally, scratching distractedly at the heavy growth on his face, House offered Chase a tired half-grin. "I bet Cuddy's pissed that security didn't catch the guy." This was going to be annoying, referring to the shooter constantly as 'the guy.' He'd figure something better to call him when he regained some clarity.
Winning Fire: Chase sort of half-smiled, nodding. "She nearly fired the security by the front doors. Probably should have." He didn't have a lot of sympathy for the guards, all things considered; a man with a gun had gotten inside a hospital and shot someone.
scruffylies: Also, House reflected, when clarity returned he'd have to launch a good tirade at Cuddy just for the hell of it. Complain about the guy, complain about the guards... oh, it could just go on and on.
He closed his eyes briefly, opened them again to regard his surroundings. Particularly appealing was the morphine drip. The pain was as fuzzy as his thoughts felt; he couldn't quite tell where it was coming from or how bad it was going to get. But it was certainly heading in that general direction: bad.
House reached over and grasped the controls to the drip.
Winning Fire: "You shouldn't mess with that," Chase said, half-chiding, though he didn't actually take an authoritative tone, as he might with a patient. This was House - an older and more experienced doctor than himself, if infinitely less ethical.
scruffylies: House flicked his eyes briefly over at Chase, and resolutely turned the drip up a notch -- only a notch -- before locking it back into place and turning to the younger doctor with a look that plainly said, See, I didn't hurt it.
Winning Fire: Chase was just relieved he hadn't cranked it up the whole way. Knowing House.. well, one could never be sure. "If it's any consolation about what happened, you made the news," he commented. He figured that as long as House was conscious and Chase was there, he might as well fill him in a little bit.
scruffylies: "Slow news day," was his dry response. House worked on getting himself more or less comfortable again. "Let me guess: the story was sandwiched between a local supercentenarian's birthday and a consumer report for the Magic Bullet Blender."
Winning Fire: "No, it was on a little bit earlier than four in the morning, so the blender ad wasn't there." Testament to Chase's lack of sleeping habits, perhaps. "I think it was just after the weather, and just before some.. charity thing."
scruffylies: "Same principle," House allowed, letting his eyes rest at half-mast. "What'd they say?"
Winning Fire: "Well, they didn't give your name, just that someone had brought a gun into the hospital and shot a doctor," he explained. Patient, as usual. Well, sometimes, anyway. "They put up the sketch, and said the police were still looking, gave a number to call.."
scruffylies: "Hmmm," House sighed. The morphine was taking effect. "I want a copy of that sketch."
Winning Fire: "Ask the police when you're better. I'm sure they'll come ask you questions and such," he said, smiling very slightly.
scruffylies: How exciting, House thought sarcastically. He stretched carefully, winced, and decided to stay still. Taking effect, sure, but still some pain.
"No," he said after a minute. "I want that sketch soon. Like yesterday. Wanna know if I know the guy." He hadn't, House reflected, been paying more than the minimum of attention to the man. "Get it yourself, get Foreman or Cameron to pester Cuddy for a copy, I don't care."
Winning Fire: "..I'll see what I can do." It was probably proof of Chase's caring at all that he said he would do it and actually meant to.
scruffylies: "Okay," House exhaled, which at that point was practically 'thank you.' Considering the pain-killer and the blood loss, it was close enough.
His eyes drifted completely shut and his voice was slightly blurred when he muttered, "Why are you still here? If you don't have enough work, you could always do my clinic hours," in an unconscious rephrasing of an earlier question -- and moot suggestion. It was unlikely Cuddy would harass him for hours right now, considering, but in his tired mind she'd been known to interrupt at what were -- for House -- other inopportune times.
Winning Fire: "I'm pretty sure your clinic hours aren't going to be an issue right now," he replied, shaking his head. He didn't get up from his chair, though.
scruffylies: House could have called Chase on the fact that he didn't actually answer the question, but he found he basically couldn't care right now.
There were a few minutes of silence, broken suddenly by House asking, "Don't we have a patient?"
Winning Fire: A pause. Chase looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable when he answered, with a hesitant, "No, we don't."
scruffylies: House shifted, looked like he was trying to open his eyes to make himself focus on Chase, to ask more questions, but gave up. "Oh," he said at last. "Well, no wonder you're in here bothering..." The end of his words were slurred; House was out like a light before he'd even finished the sentence.
Winning Fire: Chase blinked. His boss had just fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. Well, he wasn't entirely displeased by that. At least he wouldn't be trying to move around and fiddling with his morphine this way.
After a moment or two to make sure House wasn't going to wake up again and continue his thought, Chase went back to his magazine. He would go tell the others in a little while.


A visitor: Wilson (incomplete)


Back to consciousness: Cameron



Negotiatory: 6:07 AM. While Cuddy generally did make an effort to be to work earlier and later than she was required, this was pushing it even for her. Unfortunately, with the schedule Cameron and her (most likely less willing) fellow-ducklings had been putting in virtually around the clock to watch over their fallen employer, Cuddy had been incapable of showing even a professional concern considering he had nearly constant care, more than the typical ICU patient could boast.
..he didn't have it at 6:07 in the morning, however.
Thumbing pensively through the chart she'd collected from the foot of his bed, Lisa cast an idle glance at the sleeping form of the diagnostician before allowing her attention to range to the nearest monitor screen displaying his vitals. There really was nothing to note -- nothing that a hospital full of highly qualified (and as House would point out, real doctors in comparison to whatever it was Cuddy was) doctors wouldn't have noted before she did, but she made the required adjustments on his file despite, noting his heart rate and blood pressure in the correct margins.
scruffylies: Something was intruding on his sleep. Whether it was someone’s presence or the sound of papers rustling, House couldn't say. The drugs coursing through his system still seemed to cloud his mind as they banished his pain. It was kind of a nice feeling. Morphine was nice.
Morphine? Ah, that's right, he'd been shot by some idiot. Chase had been in here earlier -- because Cameron told him to? -- House remembered that.
Greg opened his eyes to half-mast, waited as everything swirled into focus. Cuddy. Well, that wasn't exactly a surprise, not after Chase. Next thing he knew, the janitor would be in here holding his hand.
Negotiatory: Perhaps she was still a doctor, yet. The most minute frequency change of his heartrate on the monitor in front of her drew her attention aside and to hooded but apparently alert blue eyes. "I turned your morphine back down. Apparently, someone turned it up without logging the change or the reason on the chart." There was a brief pause in which she considered him, but not with any particular amount of annoyance at the fact that he'd obviously been tampering with his own medication.
"It must have been a mistake." Turning aside, she dropped the chart back into its holder at the foot of his bed, replacing her pen into her pocket as she did so. She didn't move to leave, however, instead taking the time to give him a more thorough once-over now that he was awake.
scruffylies: If he'd been thinking more clearly when he turned the morphine up, he would've cranked it higher. Would've known that Cuddy would catch what his ducklings pointedly ignored. She knew her stuff, no matter how much hell House gave her for her administrative duties. Though, really, even a clinic patient could've figured out that the dosage in the chart didn't match the one on the drip.
"Nice mistake," he muttered, closing his eyes again. "Shame you had to go and ruin it."
Negotiatory: Restraining the urge to roll her eyes (he wouldn't come clean about it; he didn't need to really, she knew who had done it and he knew she knew, so what was the point?), Cuddy gave an exasperated shake of her head and pulled back, twisting about as she did so to grab the nearest chair and haul it a few inches closer before she sank into it. "The police need to talk to you. I've been keeping them out until you stabilized but the sooner you're feeling up to it..." Everyone was curious to know who the man was and more importantly why he'd walked into a hospital and shot one of the doctors twice. Knowing House, he most likely deserved it, but that didn't mean that the man needed to be tracked down any less.
scruffylies: House heard the sound of the chair scraping closer, heard her words. Let them register. A smirk dashed across his face, though he didn't bother to open his eyes again. "You've been fighting off the cops in my honor? How gallant." Though his tone wasn't its usual razor edge, he did manage some half-hearted sarcasm for her benefit.
Negotiatory: "I'd do it for any other patient, don't start thinking you're special." On the opposing hand, she wouldn't be in any other patient's room at such an hour either, but her hospital wasn't also responsible for footing their medical bills as other patients weren't typically shot on the premises. With House, she could feign a purely professional interest, even if she had been slightly concerned.
Just a little bit.
"How's your leg?" The question might have seemed a little out of left field considering the bullet hole in his throat and abdomen, but it was already proved he was too stubborn to let those kill him, so on to other things.
scruffylies: He'd been busying himself with thoughts of Cuddy bullying the cops, so House began to answer her question without thinking. "My leg? My leg is fine; the gaping holes in my..." House trailed off as he let his mind catch up with his mouth. 
Now his eyes snapped open and zeroed in on her. 
The question was out of left field, but House intently tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head, focus on what she was saying. "My leg..." he started again, brow furrowed. House slowly pushed himself up on his elbows, his blue eyes never leaving her face, as if the answer would come faster that way.
Negotiatory: Dark brows lifted gingerly at the expression he was donning, realization immediate; perhaps even faster than his own. Reaching into a lean hard one direction, she snagged hold of his chart once again, flipping through to the page detailing his morphine dosage. A cursory glance down at it was provided as she rose to her feet once again, handing the chart to him as she did so. "I dropped the morphine three full milligrams lower than what you had it at." One level below what even he as a doctor that didn't entirely mind when his patients were hurting would normally place a trauma victim on.
Any other information, she'd leave to the chart in his hands and his obviously over-working mind. She'd satisfied her curiosity; the fact that the only pain he had to speak of was from the obvious bullet wounds instead of his leg, well... it spoke volumes. Leaving the chart in his care, she started for the door.
scruffylies: Sitting, now, House bit back a groan as the movement pulled at the stitches in both his neck and side. He took the chart from her and flipped through it quickly, almost desperately. There was the morphine dosage. Low. There were the surgical notes...
Ketamine. He'd been put in a ketamine coma. No wonder he'd been out for so long after the surgery, trauma or no. And no wonder he still felt so sluggish. Ketamine.
He remembered now, half-conscious, caught in some hallucination, telling his team to tell Cuddy to give him ketamine...
...Cuddy, who was heading for the door...
"Hey!" the word was ripped from him, almost without thought.
Negotiatory: Hesitating with fingers coiled around the door handle, Lisa ducked her head forward slightly, catching her bearings. She'd never heard that particular tone of voice before from him, and as it was something of an oddity, it held her in place. Tilting her head enough to get a good look back at him, she steeled herself slightly before pushing on to state. "There's... a large possibility that the treatment won't be permanent. Regardless, you don't need to be in the ICU any longer. I'm recommending that you be off morphine entirely and moved to a regular room once your attending physician is here in an hour."
scruffylies: House ignored the part about the morphine and the regular room. He seemed to ignore all of it, including the fact that he'd discomfited her. Greg was sitting straight up in bed, his mind working as fast as the remnants of morphine would allow it to. He looked back down at the chart in his hands, wincing, this time, as his neck lodged a protest.
"Whatever," he said as soon as she'd finished speaking; indeed, almost before she'd completed the sentence. "You gave me ketamine." It wasn't phrased as a question, but there was still a faint sound of surprise in his voice.
Negotiatory: Was he… angry for her listening to what his team had said based on an order he gave while in a delirious state? Trying to thank her? Or was he just trying to absorb the entirety of it all and get an affirmative from her?
"Yes. Are we stating the obvious? If so, it's my turn. Your leg doesn't hurt."
scruffylies: "I noticed!" he snapped. And then his facial expression went deceptively blank. House dug under the blanket, felt around his abdomen until he openly flinched. Well, that hurt. He wasn't about to try the same thing with his neck.
He shifted on the bed, moved his leg. It was hesitant, a little uncooperative, but it didn't hurt. House pushed down on his thigh, felt around the scar tissue, the wide gulf of missing muscle. 
It didn't hurt.
His face stayed blank. He turned to look at Cuddy, and his eyes were almost unreadable. But there were faint flickers of shock, exhaustion... and was that gratitude?
"You gave me ketamine," he repeated, his voice showing nothing but fatigue, "because I asked for it?"
Negotiatory: "Requesting to be put into a chemically induced coma for anything is courting disaster, especially considering even one that doctor's start can be just as dangerous as one caused by outside circumstances." She'd thought it was an unnecessary risk, one that could have resulted in him never waking up (even if the odds of that were very slim); comas at base were dangerous, and she'd disapproved.
Frowning, Cuddy gave an exasperated shake of her head, shoulders lifting helplessly against the material of her labcoat. "I've also trusted you on procedures that were far more dangerous and on other people. You're deluded but you're not suicidal." She had every reason to trust him on this one, and maybe part of her desperately wanted to see it work.
Maybe it would even the score for the part she'd played in the pain in the first place.
scruffylies: House absorbed this explanation with as much patience as he usually did. Which wasn't much. But he didn't interrupt.
He was silent for a long moment after she'd finished dishing out that nonsense to him. Then he dryly replied, "Which basically means you did it because I asked for it." He didn't give her time to react. "When have you ever done what I've asked?" 
House paused, and amended his words, "...without some sort of argument, in which I insult your intelligence or wardrobe choices, and you say 'no,' even though I'm gonna go and do whatever it is anyway." His grin didn't quite reach his eyes; his shields were up full-force.
Negotiatory: A long-suffering sigh was given, returning her attention back to the door in front of her. "Just because I'm recommending that you be moved from the ICU doesn't mean I can't also recommend a sedative. Stop squirming; you'll rip out your stitches." With that, she opened the door and left in a rush, quite fixated on keeping her head ducked forward until she was out of earshot.



scruffylies: He'd just been released, and though he'd told everyone within earshot how he couldn't wait for his "two months of freedom," House was back, limping down the hallway to his office. It was debatable that he'd even left the hospital premises at all, but he wasn't leaving without getting a few things off his desk.
House had his cane with him, though it was more for balance than anything else. The ketamine coma had, in fact, taken the pain from his leg. Therapy in the next eight weeks would restore the range of motion, teach the muscles to bear weight again. The pain in his neck and abdomen was another story; House knew, even now, he could tear the stitches in his side if he kept walking too much. But it was still such a… novelty. Haggard but determined, House kept walking.
His office was dark; the attached room was not. House could see Foreman sitting at the table, taking notes. He smirked, lifted his cane up to rest against his shoulder, and noisily pushed open the door.
A Iooking glass: It was early for the janitorial staff to be there, too early really; it wasn't uncommon for the entire team to still be there at this hour and if they attempted to barge in early with House there, there'd be no end to his raving. Even so, he was positive Cameron and Chase were gone, and short of Cuddy coming in - unlikely -, he couldn't come to any other immediate idea of who it might be. Unwilling to look up before he finished his sentence, Foreman frowned tentatively. "..still going to be in here for a while." Maybe he should have offered to clean up before he left if it was the janitorial staff. Then again, it wasn't his fault they were early. Turning, he took a double-take over his shoulder when he noticed who the intruder was. "..thought Cuddy would have run you out of here hours ago." So maybe it wasn't the best greeting, but he was genuinely glad to see him on his feet.
scruffylies: The smirk broadened, was almost a grin. "Yeah, well, she won't know I'm here." House moved away from the door, let the glass swing shut behind him as he slowly made his way into the room. "Just wanted to grab something before I depart officially for my two months of freedom."
A Iooking glass: Nodding his understanding, he set the medical journal he'd been studying in front of him aside, dropping back into a more comfortable lean in the chair as he did so. "I think Chase stuffed your gameboy and a couple old files you had lying around in your top desk drawer." Cuddy had come in looking for past-due work of House's with the intention of handing it out to his employees to be handled which had resulted in Chase hiding anything that looked remotely unpleasant to handle. Pausing, dark eyes lingered on House's right leg.
scruffylies: Now that was helpful. The video game was exactly what he'd come back for. Saved him having to search for it. Depending on which files Chase had stuffed into the desk, House was considering taking them, too. But probably not. 
Aloud, as he walked into the darkened office, away from Foreman, he said, "It's not a Gameboy, it's a Nintendo DS. Treat it with the respect it deserves." A pause. "The Gameboy's at home." A longer pause, as he felt Foreman's eyes on him. "And yes, my leg is fine. Or it will be, soon enough." Then House was out of sight, at his desk, with the sound of the desk drawer being dragged open and papers rustling.
A Iooking glass: Oh, right. His mistake. It was a portable Nintendo system, Foreman was lucky to know the word Gameboy and that was strictly from his interaction with House. Shaking his head in silent complaint as to how it would even be expected for him to know that - and no matter how House argued it, he couldn't make the brand of a handheld game system relatively important to medicine unless it was perhaps to diagnose carpal tunnel -, he returned his attention to the journal, pulling it back to him. "Good to know." He'd had his doubts about if the Ketamine would even work, much less to the extent that it actually had.
scruffylies: The drawer banged shut; House emerged from his office with the game system. Without the papers. Which was to be expected; in his opinion, there wasn't anything there that couldn't wait a couple of months. Or more.
When he came into the room again, he brought his cane back down, leaned on it. House didn't go in for long winded goodbyes and he certainly didn't leave any instructions for what the team should do in his absence. Leave that to Cuddy. But he wanted to say... something. After a brief hesitation, he said, "Call me if you guys get a really interesting case while I'm gone."
A Iooking glass: Meaning he was going to be bored out of his mind, he just didn't want to say it? Folding back a page of the document in front of him, Foreman waved him off with an absent motion to say that they'd call if they needed him. Otherwise, he was on his own to manage his puzzle-seeking. "We'll manage."
scruffylies: House smirked again, shrugged. "You'd better," was all he replied. Using the cane again, just lightly to keep his balance, House opened the door and went back down the hallway to the elevators.
Tags: cameron, chase, cuddy, foreman, house, prequel, wilson
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