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  Cafeteria 
 by Jackyblu  

 

This is the final chapter to "A Damn Good Day" story arch. I have had it
on my hard drive while working on other projects and taking a break to
write "Redemption". I thought that I had better post it before the new
season began and everything changes. Comments are always welcome. 

As they exited the elevator and made their way toward the cafeteria,
Wilson mused on the last couple of minutes. House had just referred to the
woman beside him as 'his friend'. That would bring Greg's total number of
friends to two, and that was fine with James. One was such a lonely
number. He got tired of it sometimes. Not of Greg. Just of being the only
one Greg could count on. It was hard work being the only friend of a
misanthropic genius. Honestly, he would welcome the help.  Getting a
little ahead of myself here. They only met less than an hour ago. Still,
he seems to respect her, and for her part, she hasn't attempted to escape
him by means of either murder or suicide. That's hopeful.  

When they reached the cafeteria's dinning room House stiffened a bit. It
was crowded. He hated crowds. There was too great a potential for some
idiot to bump into him because they were too preoccupied to notice a guy
with a cane. But it was worse when they  did notice. 'Poor guy, wonder
what's wrong with him?' ' Mommy? Why does that man walk funny?' People
sometimes stared at him and then tried to move their eyes away before they
thought he had seen. Of course the honest ones just kept staring. He
always had to steel himself before coming in here, unless he was
preoccupied with a difficult case or really hungry. Then his major concern
was to grab something and sneak it into Wilson's order. He heard a soft
intake of breath that told him he wasn't the only one who didn't care for
crowds. "Okay?" he asked her. 

"Peachy. Is it always this busy?" She looked around nervously.

"Pretty much. Look there's a table over there. Why don't you snag it and
we'll fetch the drinks. No sense in risking a fall while trying to
maneuver through this gathering of the masses." He was damned the moment
the words left his mouth, having broken the Cripple's First Commandment.
Thou shall not offer help unless asked!

She turned her head and smoked him with a look. "I'll tell you what. Why
don't you snag the table and I'll get the coffee. Feel free to screw
yourself while you're waiting." She limped off past the crowded tables and
toward the coffee station.

Wilson exhaled a small chuckle and gave House a sympathetic look. "You of
all people should have known better than that." He watched as she turned
the corner into the food prep and pickup area. "She's quite a firebrand.
Wish I could remember who she reminds me of?" He made a great show of
rubbing his chin while cutting his eyes at House.

"Me? I've never been that acerbic! I'm the most even-tempered individual
you know." But, while he was talking, House was looking at a nearby table
where a group of four was seated and eyeing him in curiosity. He turned
sharply to them. "In case you were wondering, no, I am not Keith Richards.
I do get that a lot though. So now that I have placed a salve on your
curiosity, I would appreciate it very much if you would all fuck-off!"

"Yes," Wilson agreed. "You're the essence of decorum." He moved House away
from the tables and toward the coffee station. That's when a crash and a
raised female voice made them hurry. Shit!  Rounding the corner the whole
scene was laid out in front of them. A tray was laying on the coffee
covered floor, along with three now empty cups, and Carpenter on her
splendidly round ass. Some Mets fan was standing over her and apologizing,
saying that he was 'only trying to help her get the milk. He hadn't meant
to bump her cane.' 

"You moron!" House shouted viscously. He advanced on the guy with a
surprising quickness for a cripple and brandished his cane to drive him
away from her. 'Moron' took the hint and backed away quickly and
disappeared from sight. Wilson moved to her other side and dropped to one
knee. "Are you hurt?" 

"A little. Can you place a sling on my pride?" He started to help her up,
and she winced. "And maybe an ice pack on my knee." 

House took her right arm and Wilson her left and they carefully helped her
to her feet. She wiped her hand across her backside and felt how wet it
was. "Yuck! Now I'm going to smell like dark roasted Columbian for the
rest of the day."

They began to move slowly out of the food area and back toward the tables.
Carpenter couldn't put any weight on her left leg. She had her arms
wrapped around the shoulders of her two heroes'. Wilson held her cane in
his left hand. It took them a very long time to make their way across the
dining room to the furthest unoccupied table against the wall. It seemed
to House that every person in the room was staring openly at them. He shot
menacing looks in every direction that clearly said, 'See this cane? Want
a colonoscopy?'

"I'll get you a set of scrubs, and an ice pack," Wilson offered, once they
had arrived at the table. He helped her ease into one of the chairs. House
took her cane.

"Thanks."

"Be right back," he said, and lightly ran his hand across her shoulders as
he walked away.

House noticed the touch and frowned. Back off Jimmy. Crap! What made me
think that?

Carpenter watched Wilson walk away. He's really handsome in a boyish way,
and probably ten years my junior. He's nice too, just tries too hard. I
wonder why? I'll bet he's the most popular person in the hospital. Yet he
hangs out with the Grinch here. Not that that's bad! The Grinch was always
my favorite literary character. She smiled as she watched House rearrange
an artificial ficus to block the view of their table. Satisfied with the
barrier he created, House sat in a chair opposite her. Using his cane, he
pulled one of the four chairs around for them to use to elevate their bad
legs. While they sat waiting for Wilson's return, he held her cane in his
hand and turned it sideways as if he was checking the balance of it. It
passed his inspection and he rested it against the wall placing his own
beside it. "Were you told to use it in your right hand because the injury
is to your left leg?" he asked.

She exhaled a laugh and shook her head. "Constantly. Couldn't get the hang
of it though. It felt un-natural to me. At PT my therapist kept taking it
out of my left hand and putting it in my right. I just kept switching it
back until I convinced him to let me do it my way."

"I went through the same thing. How'd you convince him?"

"The last time he made me walk that way, I accidentally brought it down on
his toe, and then smacked him in the shin when I tried to correct my
balance." She grinned wickedly.

"Wish I'd done that! I just told them to  leave me the hell alone."

"Your way would have been faster."

"Yours was more fun."

"Yeah. God, the able-bodied are morons!" She giggled and then winced a
little when it produced a twinge of pain.

He folded his hands over his stomach, before saying softly; "I seem to
remember telling you to wait at the table while James and I got the
coffee.

"I remember telling you the same."

"I was nicer about it."

"But my way gave you something to do with your hands while you waited."

"Bitch."

"Ass."

They both laughed. It made her breasts jiggle, which caused him to widen
his grin. "Louie, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful
friendship."

She mocked a look of puzzlement. "Wouldn't that make you Bogie, and me
Claude Rains?" "That would make Dr. Wilson ..."

"Ingrid Bergman," House finished for her. 

"Really?" Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "Did you two
have Paris?"

They were still making Casablanca themed double entendres when Wilson
reappeared. "Here," he said handing her the ice pack. He placed the scrubs
on the table, and settled into the only remaining chair. "What's so
funny?"

"Paris," House answered with a smirk. He cupped his hand under Wilson's
chin and did a Bogart impersonation. "Here's looking at you kid."

Wilson twisted his head out of House's hand and narrowed his eyes at him.
"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, I had to walk
into yours."

Carpenter was enjoying the show until she placed the ice pack on her knee.
The cold made her grit her teeth. "Shit," she hissed. Her eyes closed
while she waited for the sting to pass. "Damn, I'm going to be sore
tomorrow." Wilson made an attempt to check the leg for swelling, but she
brushed his hand away. House shook his head. That move had been a clear
violation of the Cripple's Second Commandment.	Thou shall not touch,
unless invited! She let out a long sigh. The sting was subsiding. "Didn't
someone offer to buy me a cup of coffee if I followed him in here? I
usually only allow myself to be lured places with the promise of candy or
a kitty."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, which always meant that he was
trying to head off a headache. "I'm not getting up again," he stated
categorically.

"No worries," House said cheerfully. "Her comes the waitress to take our
order. We'll have three coffees please Miss, one sweet, one with milk, and
one black." He had on his most charming smile, which was pretty much
wasted on the Dean of Medicine.

"My God House! What have you done now?" she shouted. "I just had a guy in
my office who wrote out a complaint. He said a lunatic in the cafeteria
threatened him with a cane! Strangely you were the first lunatic I thought
of."

"Think I'll get those coffees now," Wilson said as he started rising out
of his chair.

"Freeze you!" Cuddy snarled as she shot him a look. "I don't know what
happened here, but you were involved in some way." Wilson slowly lowered
himself back into the chair with a grimace.

"Hey, mom's mad at you too. Cool!"

"Shut up House! Do you have no impulse control at all? Why can't you go
for a simple cup of coffee without turning this whole damn hospital on its
ear? 

He shrugged modestly. "It's a gift."

"I'll give you a gift! How about another fifty hours of clinic duty
starting tomorrow?"

He recoiled in faux horror. "Nobody's that cruel!" He then dropped his
chin and gave her his best soulful look with a little lower lip tremble
thrown in.

Cuddy crossed her arms and shot him the glare of the Ice Queen.
"Fifty-five hours."

House opened his eyes wide. "Hey, no fair! I was trying to look innocent
here." 

"And it keeps going up the longer it takes you to tell me the truth."

"Dr. Cuddy it wasn't really his fault this time," Wilson began.

"Dr. Wilson, would you like extra clinic hours too?"

Wilson put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and rolled his eyes at
House. "You're on your own buddy."

"Thanks pal. Good to know that when the going gets tough, you run like a
little girl."

James nodded in agreement. "It has served me well all these years."

Cuddy was about to increase the clinic hours by a factor of four, when
Carpenter stifled a moan and tried to readjust herself in her chair. She
shifted the ice pack on her knee and then rubbed her leg with a positively
pitiful expression. 

Interesting, House thought. It didn't seem to bother her that much before
Cuddy appeared. 

Cuddy gave her a concerned look, and set her anger with House on the back
burner, while she replaced it with guilt at not having noticed that her
new hire was in pain. "My God, what happened? Are you all right?"

"The man who made the complaint," she asked her voice trembling slightly.
"Was he big and wearing a Mets shirt?"

"Yes. What does that have to do with...?"

Carpenter looked at House. Her eyes were moist and full of meaning.
"That's the same guy you pulled off of me. I was so scared. He knocked me
to the floor and was standing over me. If you hadn't scared him away he
might have..." she choked out a little sob. 

The little Sarah Bernhardt, House thought admiringly! He loved a good con.
This one was a bit thick for his taste, but it was an impromptu attempt
after all. He'd give her eight out of ten for it. And Cuddy was buying it!

Cuddy placed a hand on Carpenter's shoulder. "I'm sorry this happened to
you. Are you hurt anywhere else? Maybe we should get an x-ray and a
physical just to be sure."

"Are they still in trouble?" she asked looking from House to Wilson.

"Well, under the circumstances..." God she hated to let House off the
hook! She wasn't stupid. She knew that half of what she had just heard was
crap. But only half. Okay Lisa, back off for now. She needed to regroup.
Hiring someone to make House miserable and get what she needed from him
wasn't working out as she had planned. Without meaning to she had given
him another ally. And damn it, she had also agreed to make him her boss,
so Cuddy couldn't fire her! Well, they may be getting on for now, but
House was House. He'd screw up and she would quit. Problem solved
eventually.

He intruded on her thoughts. "Well Dr. Cuddy, is all forgiven?" 

"Be sure she gets that x-ray. The hospital doesn't need the liability."
Cuddy turned on her stilettos and stalked off.

"Thought she'd never leave," Carpenter said now looking fairly comfortable
and at ease. "Now I believe we are in the cafeteria for a reason people."

Relieved that they had miraculously escaped Cuddy's wrath, Wilson got to
his feet again. "I'll get the coffee."

"Coffee at this hour? It's lunchtime Jimmy! I'll have the Ruben, dry, no
pickles." He then turned a favored gaze toward the cutest person he had
ever met. "And you my dear?"

"How's the chicken salad?"

House and Wilson both made disgusted faces.

"I'll have the Ruben, no pickles, thousand island on the side, and a
coke."

"Me too," House piped up.

"Anything else folks? Would you like to see the wine list?" Wilson
snarked.

"Chips?" House asked Carpenter. She nodded. "Two please young man."

Wilson affected a terrible British accent. "Yes sir. Very good sir." 

House's accent was a little better. "Hurry along now Jeeves. Must get
supper in before our doubles match with the Spode's on the lawn." 

Wilson pantomimed shaking out a linen napkin and placing it over his left
arm. "I shall return soon sir, madam," he said bowing slightly and nodding
to each of them before turning to go. "Oh and sir, do try not to get us
fired prior to my return and I shall bring you a cookie along with your
Ruben."

House rolled his eyes. "Toddle along now Jeeves."

"Of course sir." Wilson remained completely in character as he walked
across the room toward the food prep area. House watched him go with a
look of affection on his face. Carpenter watched him, watching Wilson. 

"Best friend?"

"Only friend," he sighed. "But yeah, he's the best."

"How long have you two known each other, Dr. House?"

House considered a moment. "The best part of my life," he answered
honestly. "And it's Greg."

She smiled at him. "Jennifer. Jenn, to my friends and saviors." 

"What brings you to Princeton, Jenn?" 

"Heard the climate was good for stiff joints." She looked amused at her
own words.

He snorted. "Balmy eighty degrees all year long. I don't know why the
chamber of commerce keeps forgetting to put that in the brochures."

She smiled. "What brought you here? Family?"

"Nope I'm an only child. Mom and Dad are in Florida. You?"

"Two sisters. Both married with families. One in California and the other
in Texas"

He cut right to the heart of the matter. "Were you ever married?"

"Once." 

"Kids?"

"One."

"How old?"

She rested her chin on her hand and turned her face toward the wall. Her
eyes became unfocused. Without realizing she was doing so, she started
rubbing her hand up and down her left leg. "He was thirteen."

Was? House wanted to smack himself with his cane as hard as he could. How
could he have been so stupid? "Sorry," he said softly.

She looked back at him and he saw her eyes regain some of their warmth.
"Not your fault. It was an accident. Black ice and the car spun out of
control before it slammed into the wall. It took the fire department hours
to get us out, and by that time it was too late. My husband died at the
scene, my son in the ER. My leg had been trapped by what was left of the
dash. When they got me loose, they realized that the metal that had nearly
severed it was also the only thing that kept me from bleeding to death.  I
really resented that metal for a long time," she added shaking her head
sadly.

He nodded. "Nerve damage and restricted blood flow to the muscles. They
could repair the major arteries and return the blood flow, but the nerve
damage is permanent. Some areas hurt while the rest has no feeling at
all."

"Yes." She dropped her eyes to her lap, before raising them to look at him
again.

He met her eyes and then placed his hand on his right leg. "I lost most of
my right thigh to a muscle infarction. The dead muscle was removed leaving
me permanently crippled and in constant pain."

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Not your fault. It was a stupid missed diagnosis, coupled with a decision
I didn't get to make. My potassium level dropped so low at one point, my
heart stopped for a minute. I was brought back. I really resented that
defibulator for a long time," his voice trailed off. House physically
shook himself. "This is maudlin. What do you say we change the subject?"
The pain in his leg flared up again. He reached in his pocket and pulled
out his bottle of Vicodin. He shook two into his hand and dry swallowed
them. She watched him with interest.

"Are you on Vicodin? I don't know what I would have done without it! I was
ready to sleep with the scientist that invented it."

"What if it was a woman?" 

"Didn't care," she stayed flatly.

He quirked his eyebrows at her. "Kinky. You don't take it anymore?"

"Became resistant to it. They put me on Darvocet."

Doctor House gave her a concerned look. "How long have you been taking
that?"

"Five months."

In a frightening flash he was furious. "That's about thirty times the
usual prescribed period! What idiot is writing you a script for that much?
Darvocet is highly addictive!"

She became instantly indignant. "Really? Didn't I just see you take your
Vicodin dry? Most people would choke on pills that large. That only comes
from practice. Lots of practice! Maybe years!"

"I'm not most people!" he snapped irritably.

She became angrier. "No. You're a hypocrite! And an addict!" 

"Takes one to know one Toots," he snarled.

"And you're a doctor! I'm just a dumb little secretary with a bad leg,
following my doctor's orders! What's your damn excuse?" Her eyes were
tearing as she shouted at him.

He raised his voice above hers. "Your doctor is an idiot! You want to
follow doctor's orders? Fine! Follow mine! It will keep you alive." His
eyes were blazing, and his breath came in powerful bursts.

She spoke so quietly it nearly broke him. "Why?"

He forced himself to calm down and spoke gently. "Opiate-based painkillers
become less effective with time. You take more because you're not getting
the same pain reducing effect you once did at lower doses. Overdosing can
occur by as little as two pills too many." For a moment he closed his
eyes. He had just stated a painful truth about himself, and in his head it
was said in Wilson's voice. Oh God, please not now.

She was intuitive. "Who helps you? Who keeps you from overdosing on
Vicodin?" she demanded.

"That would be me," Wilson said softly as he set the trays down on the
table. He sat down next to them. "Sorry for listening in, but your voices
were carrying to Boston."

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair trying to regain some
composure. "Let's say for the sake of all the ears in this room," she
waved her hand irritably at the room in general, "that I agree with your
ranting assessment of my drug usage. How would you get me off of it?"

Thank God. House took a breath before looking at her again. "Depression
and suicidal thoughts can be a result of withdrawal from Darvocet. It will
also make you feel as if your current pain is several times worse than it
actually is." This he knew from his own experience of going 'cold turkey'
off Vicodin to get out of a few weeks of clinic duty. "I would slowly
reduce the amount you're taking, and then reintroduce your body to Vicodin
at smaller doses coupled with ibuprofin. The combination is an effective
form of pain management. It won't be easy, but I'll get you through it."

Wilson closed his eyes, his heart hammering. 'Greg, are you listening to
yourself?' he prayed. He let out his breath and opened them looking at
them both. "We'll get you through it," he corrected. 

"James and I will get you through it," House amended. "And from now on,
you're my patient. What's the name of your ex-doctor? I'm looking forward
to a conversation with him!"

"Dr. Walter Finney. I heard he moved his office."

"You heard?" Wilson said looking troubled. "When's the last time you saw
him?"

"Five months ago. I haven't seen him since he first wrote the
prescription."

"Christ!" House shouted.

"Jesus!" Wilson yelped. "How are you getting your refills?"

"They just fax them to my pharmacy."

"When are you supposed to see this jerk again?" Wilson said incredulously.

"He said to come back when I experience some kind of change." She looked
at the two men. James looked like he had been sucker punched. But Greg was
so livid he was scary. 

"I am going to get that son of a bitch thrown out of medicine!" he
bellowed. "He won't be allowed to put a band aid on a blister when I get
through with him!" The lines on his face had deepened and he was breathing
hard again. Silence. The entire dinning room was quiet as the grave. Every
conversation had stopped and all the diners were looking their way. House
didn't care. 

Then an implausibly loud rumbling of someone's stomach startled everyone,
which did wonders to lighten the mood. Jenn and Greg laughed at the young
man seated with them at the table. James put on a little embarrassed
smile. "Sorry, just coffee this morning. Can we eat first and then go
destroy his career?"

Greg smiled at him. "Sounds like a plan. Pass the chips." Wilson passed a
chip bag to House, and a plate with a sandwich to Carpenter before taking
a salad for him.

"Well," James sighed as he poured dressing on his salad. "I guess that
ruining a quacks career will keep us busy for the rest of the day." He
reached for his fork. "So, what are we going to do tonight Brain?"

Greg pulled a chip out of the bag. "The same thing we do every night
Pinky, try to take over the world!" He popped the chip into his mouth with
a self-satisfied smile.

"Narf." Jenn giggled. She picked some corned beef out her sandwich and ate
it.

While they were eating, House reflected on the day. It had definitely not
been boring. So far he had met a cute, God he liked that word, woman with
great breasts who was going to take all of the drudgework he hated off his
desk. Bonus! She was every bit as quick witted and sarcastic as he and was
an obvious devotee of pop culture. Then he had gotten in a fight; pissed
off Cuddy, and got away with it; got James to buy his lunch, again; and
was about to ruin another doctor's career. Plus, his headache was finally
gone! This was a good day for Greg House. He looked at James and Jenn as
they made pithy observations about any hapless soul who happened to meet
their gaze. His two friends were being unmerciful. Two friends. He took a
drink of his soda and quirked a smile to himself. It was definitely a damn
good day for Greg House. And the evening held promise.

  
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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.