Making Heros

Just a one shot, set in the early days of series one. It didn't happen. That's why we call it fan fiction.

His team were new enough that they had not quite learnt all the ins and outs of PPTH yet, which could be fun, on occasion, in terms of playing with them. Unfortunately, they'd now been there long enough to start to get a little bolder. This was why Cameron had ambushed him as he waited for the lift down to the cafeteria for lunch.

'He's got elevated BP, combined with lots of unexplained bruising…'

'So his Daddy's beating him and it's making him stressed,' House dismissed it, watching the elevator doors hopefully. A message began in the background over the hospital speakers, and he listened to it as Cameron continued her lofty campaign to saddle him with a boring case.

'He's fifty-five. His father's dead.'

'Well there you go. Very stressful having Dad die like that. The bruises are self-inflicted to deal with the stress.'

'His hydrostatic count and sedimentation rate are elevated, but there's no sign of inflammation anywhere, nor apparent reason for it. Loss of appetite, insomnia- that was what brought him in originally…'

House cut her off as the message finished, his interest piqued, but not by her. 'Forget Mr. Bruisy. Hear that just then?'

Cameron looked mildly confused. Apparently she hadn't been paying attention. 'There's a call to the ER. Sounds like they've got a major boo-boo on their hands.'

More polite confusion. House raised an eyebrow at her. 'That means scat. Now.'

She indicated the elevator doors, which still hadn't opened, with an abortive gesture. He indicated the cane, his tone scathing. 'I get cripple allowance. You get to take the stairs.' It was only one level, and the stairs would be quicker for her.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off with a sharp look, and she turned and pushed through the door to the stairwell. He caught a glimpse of her trotting rapidly downwards before it swung shut. His team were perhaps picking up some of his bad habits, he mused, waiting more impatiently now for the lift doors to open. You didn't ignore an ER call, because if they'd announce it like that over the loudspeakers, then it was major, with blood and limbs flying all over the place, most likely not attached to their original owners. That meant they needed all free doctors still able to wield a scalpel down there to help with the triage.

Certainly, he was arrogant, didn't like people wasting his time, didn't like wasting his own time with cases too simple… He was still a doctor. And some things were important, and not to be ignored. He could distinguish which things. Cameron had just shown a failing to do so. It would be corrected. Later. Right now the lift had finally decided to turn up, and he was soon in the midst of a maelstrom of blood spattered bustle that was a suddenly full ER.

'Explosion at a fuel warehouse next to a supermarket,' Cuddy informed him over her shoulder as she held a cut together whilst another doctor sewed. House was scrubbing in as she filled him in, and he could see his team at various points around the ER, helping with the minor and major injuries. There were certainly a lot of victims, and the place was filled to capacity by the addition of what seemed like most of the hospital staff.

Doctors were dealing mainly with the major stuff; whilst nurses, interns, and sometimes even other victims saw to shocks and concussions, minor scrapes and grazes.

That was all the time that House got for sight seeing. He took a teenage boy with internal injuries from the blast, hands steady as he patched and sewed. The anaesthetist was going between three other operations in the same room. The ER had several larger theatres all attached to the main area, for instances just as this. In the main area were beds and lots and lots of supplies ready to hand.

Things were settling down slightly by the time House finished the first surgery, although there were still a lot of people to be treated, with not enough beds for all the patients even. To make matters worse, the press were trying to sneak in, and House caught a glimpse of Cuddy looked very harassed as she managed and organised, everywhere at once to answer questions and give orders.

He searched around quickly, putting a cast on one girl's arm that had just come down from radiology, and dressing a few of her larger cuts. Nurses would occasionally bustle up and ask for authorisation to give this or that drug, or for advice on what to do with certain patients. He crossed paths with Foreman at one point, who was doing a bit of the organising himself. 'That's Cuddy's job,' House snapped at him. 'You just treat.' Foreman nodded curtly and shut his mouth, bending his head to deal with a burn.

House picked up another surgery, this time to re-position a displaced bone. He barely even registered whom he was operating on. He did the best he could, but the break was messy, and the patient would probably end up needing a secondary to have a pin put in if the bone didn't knit.

Washing off the blood and stripping down, House had enough time to swallow two Vicodin between surgeries, quickly scrubbing in again to assist with a patient that had had a bleed whilst waiting for a free surgeon. The patient died on the table, and after four attempts at restarting her heart, it was called. House barely paused as he stripped off his gloves and headed back out into the main area.

It had cleared slightly further, and everyone had either a bed or a chair now, most with dressings visible. 'Doctor!' Came the cry from across the room, and he hobbled over to where he was needed in the busy mess of people, intercepted three times on the way by different nurses who briefly required a doctor for various reasons.

The older woman was sitting anxiously beside a pale, slumped teenager; his dark hair and eyes making him look sickly. But they were not the sole explanation. He had internal injuries, House could tell that in a single glance.

'We didn't want to interfere; all these people need help so badly. But he's not feeling so good.' House didn't bother to pay much attention to her.

'Get me a gurney,' he yelled. An intern was with him almost immediately. The kid was still well enough to get himself up on the bed, but only barely. House swore under his breath as he limped after the gurney as it was wheeled into a theatre. Chase was waiting, ready to start, as was an anaesthetist, so House took his time to carefully scrub up, yet again.

He didn't speak to his young employee when he joined the surgery, heading it as they opened the boy up. There was bleeding and bruising that looked nasty in his abdominal cavity, and House didn't worry about causing scarring as he made the incisions he needed. The kid would be lucky to live, screw the scarring.

They were about half way through when Cuddy materialised. House could tell she was there, but he didn't turn to look as his steady hands carefully suctioned the blood away from the bits he needed to see.

'Are you all right Dr. House?' She asked, and he could tell it was a formal question, as well as personal worry.

'Careful, Chase might feel neglected. He's been going as long as I have.' A pair of blue eyes flicked up at him from above the surgical mask, but the man on the other side of the table didn't comment, continuing to hold back the intestines so House could get to the liver. House handed him the suction as well, and Chase held it there in green-gloved hands whilst House picked up a threaded needle.

'Everyone else has had at least two breaks,' she pointed out.

'What time is it?' House asked, suddenly realising he had absolutely no idea. He didn't stop his actions as he talked though. The kid was in bad shape- he didn't have time for doctors and chit-chat.

'Nine o'clock,' stated Cuddy. For a bizarre moment, House thought he'd worked all night, and it was the next morning, but then his brain caught up with him.

'Pfft,' he dismissed her, although now he thought about it, his left leg was shaking under him slightly, after having borne his weight for, what? Six hours? Jeez.

'I know you take a perverse pleasure in malpractice suits, but let's try to prevent them if we can. You're taking a break after this one.' She was gone before his slightly fuzzed brain could think of a retort, probably needed to reassure some idiotic ER victim that the first degree burns weren't going to kill them. With no other course open to him, he continued with the surgery.

The boy coded on them once, and his mother, or grandmother, House wasn't sure, tried to bust into the theatre just after it happened, but they pulled it off, and House was fairly sure that he'd stabilise. He was out to fetch another patient before he'd even remembered Cuddy's words. He simply popped two more Vicodin to dull a rather insistent leg and gulped them down with lukewarm coffee to keep his eyes open, before seeking out the worst of the injuries left.

Another two, less essential operations then, and on to some more minor traumas that had taken second place to the serious problems. There were a lot of burns, and some glass embedded in various places that needed extracting and patching.

He sat back as he waited for the local anaesthetic to take effect on a trembling young girl (surprised she hadn't been treated first, because she was pretty). He winced as he saw Cuddy come striding over, but he still hadn't found a good moment to take a break, so it wasn't his fault, really.

'Go. You're off duty.'

House gave her an impassive stare. 'Kind of in the middle of something here. Or do you want to leave this poor girl to go through life branded as 'glassy'?'

'Someone else will do it. You're going home. Actually, I want you to wait here till a taxi can come and get you.'

'And leave my beloved car in this dark and evil hospital's park overnight? You must be dreaming woman.'

'Don't worry about that. It's almost morning.' That got House took look at his watch.

'Hah, you're lying. It's barely midnight,' he told her triumphantly.

'And you've been on duty since mid-afternoon. Look around. This place is nearly cleared. Go home. Take tomorrow morning off.'

House looked up at her through his eyelashes, batting them coquettishly. 'But Dr. Cuddy, what about my clinic hours?'

He didn't really think she'd agree to let him get off; he just used them as a measure of her seriousness. She didn't hesitate as she answered though. 'I'll let you have the rest of the week off clinic duty, if you promise not to argue.'

Well that almost seemed too good to be true. House eyed her suspiciously. She sighed, looking put-upon. 'Hold out your hand. Flat,' she ordered. With a superior smile, House complied, knowing that it'd be perfectly steady. Or should be… He stared at it disbelievingly as his own muscles betrayed him, shaking noticeably.

'Too much coffee, too much Vicodin, not enough sleep or food. Go.'

House let out a stream of barely audible grumbling at he heaved himself to his feet, with heavy use of his cane. OK, so he was feeling a little sore. Behind him he head Cuddy introduce herself to the girl he'd been treating. 'Hi, I'm Dr. Cuddy. What's your name?' 'Laura.' 'OK Laura, can you still feel this?' …

He called a taxi, like she'd asked, grunting in response the cheerful, one-sided conversation of the old, Italian driver. Stumbling stiffly through the front door, he collapsed into bed, shoes and all, quickly passing out. He slept until nearly lunch time the next day.

His body protested his getting up, but he was used to ordering it around, and it submitted in the end. He limped in to the conference room to find all three of his team pretending they hadn't been waiting for him.

'So, tell me about Mr. Bruisy,' he addressed Cameron.

'He died last night from a massive internal bleed,' she told him slightly mournfully. He silently cursed her puppy-dog eyes. 'Well, let me know the autopsy results then, but one of the fun things about being a doctor is sometimes you gotta choose.' His voice was light, but this was a Lesson. Officially. He might have been able to save that man's life, although it was doubtful, considering what bad shape he'd been in. But there had been far more, far more immediate patients that had needed seeing to.

'That was insane last night House,' Foreman told him, and House thought he detected a hint of idol worship in there. Couldn't be having that.

'Don't tell me you've never done an ER rotation before. I did think it was part of medical training.' House shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 'Training institutes these days- they just ain't what they used to be.'

'I was talking about you,' clarified Foreman, for once not irritated with House's flippant tone. 'Jenny the nurse down there told me you were there until midnight.'

'Jenny the nurse told you? Why weren't you there yourself?' Asked House dangerously. He was warning Foreman that if he wanted to make a fuss about House's ridiculously long and unbroken shift, then House would make a fuss about Foreman needing rest like a normal person. Foreman let it drop, but three slightly worshipful gazes followed him into his office. He could feel them itch between his shoulder blades and shuddered. But Cameron had made good, fresh, hot coffee, which was rare for the middle of the day, and he couldn't complain too much.

The End.