Chapter 9

Author's Note: Ahh, it's over! It's been such a great experience to write this fanfiction… thank you so much to those of you who've stayed tuned with each update and reviewed; you mean the world to me. Love love love love love. On a different note, I feel like I should warn you that the Chase/Cam relationship in this has become slightly AU. I had to include the "it's Tuesday" thing, as it is much too adorable to ignore—but the mutual aspect of that didn't really happen until after House fired his team, which hasn't happened in this fic. So, try not to think about it too hard, and I hope you all enjoy this final chapter!
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"It's Tuesday."

"It's Saturday," Chase said, ruffling his hair bemusedly.

"Whatever," Cameron grinned. She pushed past him and into the apartment. It was oddly dark inside, and she squinted to see the edges of the room. Stripes of light streamed out from behind half-drawn blinds, falling upon the navy blue walls. Cameron felt around for a light switch as Chase closed the door behind her, and a moment later she flicked one near her elbow.

The light revealed a conservatively furnished living room, with a single couch, coffee table, and television; book shelves were scattered along the walls, but Cameron ignored the prospect of finding out whether or not Chase was a fan of Stephen King or J.K. Rowling—instead, she raised her eyebrows at the coffee table.

"Uh, sorry," Chase murmured embarrassedly. He hurried past her and grabbed the three empty beer bottles scattered haphazardly upon it. His face was quite red as he straightened up.

"When in doubt, get drunk," Cameron said with a shrug. She slid her shoes off and kicked them to the side of the doorway. As Chase hurried down the hallway with the bottles into what was presumably the kitchen, she brushed a few crumbs off the beige couch and sat with her legs curled under her.

Chase returned, hands empty. He smiled apologetically.

"You are drunk, aren't you?" Cameron asked, noting his unshaven jaw and slightly bloodshot eyes.

"A little," he said with a sly smile, maneuvering around the couch and dropping down beside her.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said, her tone suddenly serious.

"I know," Chase said simply. He leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his fists. "Wilson called me, to make sure I was coming back."

Cameron looked taken aback; "then why were you getting drunk in the dark?"

Chase laughed. "Working around House is enough to drive anyone off the edge. Forgive me for trying to wind down."

"Forgiven," Cameron said with a sigh. She leaned her head back to rest on the slightly dingy cushions of the couch. "He nearly ripped my scalp off yesterday."

Chase looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"I tried to convince him not to do the surgery."

Chase laughed again. "Ouch."

Cameron smiled briefly, but her eyes remained sullen as they scanned the room.

"He was being irrational," she said, her tone slightly defensive, "….more so than usual."

"Well it's obvious why, isn't it?" Chase said loudly, flinging himself backwards into the couch. He turned to raise an eyebrow at Cameron. "He's never cared about a patient before."

She smiled rather forcefully.

"And you care that he cares," Chase said, scooting closer. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

She made a face and averted her eyes. "He should care more often," she said bitterly.

"But that's not what this is about," he pressed, crossing his arms.

"I'm over him!" she said loudly, meeting his slightly smug expression defiantly.

He smiled mischievously. "Prove it. It's Tuesday."

He pushed her gently over onto the couch, already fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.

She smirked back. "Saturday."

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"House?"

Gregory House jerked his head up towards the hoarse voice. The figure on the bed lay as motionless as ever, but his hand reached tentatively towards the cane that leaned against the wall behind him. He narrowed his eyes at the figure that may as well have been a corpse, lying immobile under the bright, sterile glow of the hospital lights. House's fingers lingered on the top of his cane for a moment, but he withdrew them with a sigh. His face set in a frown, he lowered himself back down into the flimsy plastic chair.

"House?"

This time there could be no mistaking it; she was awake.

"Hi," he said, his hand darting out again towards the cane. He pulled it towards him and rose with a grimace.

A lock of damp hair flopped limply down over her forehead as she tilted her head to meet his eyes. The face that had seemed pale before was almost ghostly against the pastel colors of the room; her eyes were mere slits as she looked up at him groggily.

"Did it work?" Cuddy rasped.

House averted his eyes, staring instead at the scuffed toes of his sneakers.

"House?" she whispered, her eyes widening as her expression loosened anxiously. "I don't feel right."

"I was wrong," he breathed. The words had barely left his lips before they disappeared among the soft, steady beeping of the machines that cluttered the room.

Cuddy may or may not have heard him; she was staring at her chest. Bandages stretched an inch deep across it, and though House had watched the nurses change them not twenty minutes ago, a small crimson stain was visible under the neck of Cuddy's hospital gown.

"Wrong," she repeated, her voice unnaturally high pitched. Her eyes widened again as she turned over her left arm to reveal a thick IV. House watched her eyes as they followed the tube up to the IV bag, a quarter full of red liquid.

"Blood?" she gasped, her voice breaking as she turned to look back at House. He met her eyes reluctantly, chewing his lip.

"Don't get over-excited," he said in a low voice. "Your stitches are barely working as is."

She was staring at him like a doe in headlights. House bit his lip harder, blinking with agitation as he twitched his eyes away from her petrified expression.

"We never touched your heart," he muttered softy. "You practically exploded as soon as the knife touched your skin."

Cuddy gaped. House's eyes refused to focus on one spot; he glanced at his shoes, his hands, her face, and back at his shoes. For a minute the room was near silent; the beeping of machinery was only interrupted by soft rustling as Cuddy sank lower into the pillows of the bed, staring dejectedly up at the ceiling. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she finally spoke;

"Am I going to die?"

House frowned at his sneakers. "No," he said firmly. "the blood in that IV is chock full of Von Willebrand factor. It should make up for your complete lack of it, and you'll be better in no time."

"Von Willebrand's," Cuddy said faintly. "I have a clotting problem? That's… it?"

"Yup," House said with a swift nod. "Type three VW. It was apparent as soon as they started the surgery."

He raised his eyes cautiously, head still bowed. Cuddy's eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but her previously pained expression was now one of blank incomprehension.

"So I'm getting better," she said slowly.

One corner of House's mouth curled up in a smile. "Yes."

"But it can't be Von Willebrand's. That wouldn't… it's harmless," Cuddy said with a frown.

House grimaced. "You remember why you were initially in here? The razor cut— I should have seen your bleeding as a symptom."

He paused. With another rustle of the hospital bedding Cuddy turned to look at him, her eyes still wide and shining with confusion. He flinched under her gaze, but didn't look away.

"It was the symptom," he said, shaking his head sadly. "The original bleeding caused an infection, which threw VW into hyper drive. Since you've barely gotten out of bed since you got here, blood idled in your joints and caused the pain. As it got worse, some minor clots in your arteries started breaking off; causing the stroke."

At this point he paused again, his own eyes widening to meet Cuddy's. His lower lip withdrew back into his mouth as he began to bite it again, resulting in a horribly dejected expression.

"The blood thinners," Cuddy said, her voice hushed. "After the stroke, you gave me blood thinners."

House nodded faintly. "So much for blood being thicker than water. The thinners caused some of the capillaries in your eyes to burst—they weren't Roth's Spots."

Cuddy nodded slowly.

"It's incredible that Rodgers managed to close you up," House admitted in a low voice. "We nearly killed you. I was an idiot not to recognize the symptoms earlier."

Cuddy's eyes shimmered as she nodded again. Her chin quivered.

"That all makes sense," she whispered. "But-- but you're not an idiot."

House bit his lip harder and reverted back to staring at his shoes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," she said loudly, her voice quavering slightly. "You saved my life, House."

"Any decent doctor would have considered a clotting problem straight off," House snapped.

"You're a better than decent doctor," she said with a tentative smile.

"Apparently not," House spat at his shoes.

"You fixed me," Cuddy said desperately. "It's okay!"

House pounded his cane down on the floor, face twisting angrily. "You could have DIED, how is that OKAY?"

Cuddy's face fell. Small patches of pink bloomed on her cheeks, bright against her pallid features. Silent tears glittered upon them as she shook her head.

"You're so determined to be miserable," said, a hint of wonder in her slightly unsteady voice. "You can't even be content with the fact that you did it."

House let out a bark of laughter. "This isn't about me being miserable."

"Then what the hell is it about?" she snapped.

"I knew this was going to happen," he muttered, kneading the head of his cane with a white-knuckled hand. "I told Wilson I wanted off the case because I knew this would happen."

"Knew what would happen, House?" Cuddy cried through gritted teeth.

"That I'd screw up because I can't be the slightest bit objective around you!" he snarled. Cuddy's mouth fell open.

"House—"

"Shut up!" he snapped. "You should be YELLING at me right now, not trying to play therapist! That's your god damn problem. Why do you let me get away with so much? Why the hell would you trust me? I'm an ASS, remember? You're an IDIOT for consenting to that surgery!"

Cuddy flinched at the sound of his yelling. He took a step forward, leaning down to glare at her. "What part of this do you not understand? You're better, so WHAT?"

"House," she said softly. Her pale eyes stared up into his brilliant blue ones; both sparkled in the shadows created by their own silhouettes. "You know perfectly well why I let you get away with so much."

House's furious expression faltered.

Cuddy raised her head, fixing House with a blazing look. House narrowed his eyes as her lips parted in a smile.

"Pardon?" he mumbled faintly.

"Shut up," she murmured. House's eyebrows rose as he felt the IV tube brush his shoulder. Seconds later, Cuddy's fingers were entwined in his hair.

"You're going to tear your stitches," he muttered, looking pointedly away. His eyes found the screen of Cuddy's heart monitor; 89BPM. "Don't get—"

Her breath tickled his ear. "Shut up," she whispered again.

House turned back to face her. She hesitated, her face inches from his own. She raised her eyebrows curiously.

He closed the distance between their lips in a heartbeat.

------------------------------ Epilogue------------------------------

"Do an electromyography and a tissue biopsy, and tell the wife that he's cheating on her."

"If Stephen does have Vasculitis, then that has nothing to do with his infidelity," Cameron said indignantly, her heels clicking on the floor as she followed House down the hall.

House rolled his eyes. "Doesn't make it untrue."

They stopped in front of the clinic. House turned his back on Cameron and flashed a cheesy grin at Chase.

"Hey ass-kisser, be a good boy and do an electromyography and a tissue biopsy. And tell the wife that he's cheating on her."

Chase raised his eyebrows, but nodded and strode purposely away.

"Foreman, go help," House ordered. Foreman turned and marched back down the hall after Chase.

House turned to Cameron. "Now as for you, Little Miss Morality, why don't you—"

He stopped. Across the room, an elevator door had opened. A woman was wheel chaired out of it, smiling up at the nurse who pushed her.

"Yes?" Cameron said slowly.

"Uh, MRI," mumbled House.

"For Vasculitis?" Cameron said bemusedly. House ignored her; he was staring over her shoulder at the nurse and patient, now making their way towards the front doors.

"Move," he said abruptly, pushing past her. He limped past the front desk, his cane making soft pinging noises against the linoleum.

"I can take it from here," he said loudly, nudging the surprised nurse with his cane. She scowled, but retreated after glancing at his cane furtively.

House grasped the handle of the wheel chair as Cuddy turned her head around to raise an eyebrow at him.

"You're always so pleasant," she remarked.

House smirked. "I can't see your ass when you're sitting down."

Cuddy laughed. "Like I said, so pleasant."

"I'm gonna miss that hospital gown…" House said mournfully.

She groaned. "Ha."

House smirked wider as he slowed the chair to a stop in front of the door. "Hey, I'm actually allowed to say stuff like that now. You're mine."

Cuddy stood and turned to face him, grinning.

"On the other hand," said House, staring ostentatiously, "I'd forgotten how awesome those whore-shirts of yours are."

Cuddy glanced down distractedly, pulling her vest up with an embarrassed smile. Then she pushed the wheel chair gently out of the way, stepping closer until they were inches apart.

"House," she whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously, "I'm still your boss."

He made a face, reaching out and pushing the door open.

"Ladies first."

He followed Cuddy out into the stormy evening. Rain splashed upon the pavement in torrents, and the sky was utterly obscured by black clouds. A few people hurried under the overhang from the parking lot, holding their hands over their heads.

"Well," said Cuddy, eyeing the weather with slight apprehension, "I guess I'm off then. Free at last."

She took a step away, then turned around and smiled.

"Thank you."

House grimaced. "Look, I'm so sorry for-"

She walked back over and planted a kiss firmly on his lips.

"Damn," he muttered as she pulled away, his eyes widening.

She grinned. "Thank you. Really."

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a smirk.

She shot one final smoldering glance at him, then turned and walked out into the rain.

"Hey," he yelled after her. "Wait."

She turned around, her hair already wet and clinging to her head and shoulders. "What?" she called back, shielding her face against the downpour.

"Are you— are you free tonight?" he asked with a tentative grin.

She stepped back under the overhang, raising her eyebrows amusedly.

"You know…" she said with a smile, "I think I just might be."