House sighed, sitting on the exam table as Foreman listened to his heart.
"Beat's a little bit fast."
"That's because I'm turned on."
Then he picked up a small pink hammer, applied it to House's left leg.
Then he looked at House.
House gripped the side of the table, gritted his teeth, and nodded.
He ended up keeping a semi-responsive House on the table, holding him across the chest.
House was loosely gripping Foreman's shirt as he panted.
Eventually he recovered; enough that Foreman could let go without him slipping off the exam table.
"Well, I guess your deep tendon reflexes are intact."
House snorted tiredly.
The rest of the exam went a lot more smoothly, until Foreman decided they needed x-rays of House's left shoulder--which was swollen--and head, to confirm, for Cuddy, that the damage was to House's inner ear, not brain.
House looked irritated, though not about the x-rays.
"It'd be less busy later," said House.
Foreman rolled his eyes.
House objected with more inane and, though mostly true, unhelpful reasons why this should be done later.
"I can't walk that far," he said, after ten minutes of growling excuses.
Foreman stopped yelling at him.
Then he walked out of the room, and came back with a wheelchair.
House smirked briefly, looking exhausted, and slowly climbed down off the table.
Foreman caught him around the chest, just in time to keep him from collapsing completely onto the hard clinic floor.
House seemed barely able to keep his eyes open.
Foreman knew that it was just because the pain was still bad, draining his energy, but still...
Some proof that he could go back to work.
Foreman helped House the two steps to the wheelchair, then squatted in front of him, fingers on his wrist.
"You're tachychardic. You need to lie down, get the pain under control."
"No, you're not."
And with that, Foreman stood, gripped the handles at the back of the wheelchair, and pushed House towards the elevators.
House was only stopped from getting up and marching to radiology by the fact that he could barely stand.
Foreman sighed, parking the wheelchair.
House looked at him.
"The sleep lab?"
Foreman shrugged, "it's got beds with lockable doors."
"Uh, yeah.... which Chase and Cam had sex behind, which is creeping me out slightly."
Foreman rolled his eyes, "you just don't want to lie down."
"Fine. We'll make this official. Give you an EEG, find out why you're an insomniac."
"How do you know--"
"You're constantly calling us at two in the morning, and you're never asleep when we call you at eleven at night."
House sighed, "I know what causes it. Don't need sleep lab monitoring to figure it out."
Foreman sat down in one of the chairs.
"Right. And I'm supposed to believe you... why?"
House shook his head.
House really did need to lie down and get the pain under control; he was pale, sweaty...
He got up, pushed the wheelchair into one of the rooms, and went back out into the monitoring room.
He saw House curl up on the bed, holding his bad leg.
House clenched and unclenched, as waves of pain hit and receded.
The pain didn't seem to be getting better.
He stood, as House grabbed the oximeter lying on the bed next to him, shoved it on his finger, and looked at the camera.
Over two hundred.
Foreman grabbed a syringe out of a crash cart, hurried into the room, and jabbed it into House's arm.
House was so tense the needle barely went in.
"Damn, House. Why didn't you call me in before now?"
"Thought it... get... better...." he ground out, obviously in severe pain.
Foreman sat down on the bed next to him, sighing, and carefully helping him curl back up on his side without stressing his bad leg as the sedative started to take effect.
House closed his eyes, muttering something indistinct, as Foreman's hand started rubbing over his back.
Foreman wasn't sure if it was a complaint or an expression of enjoyment, but decided it had probably been both and kept rubbing.
House finally fell asleep, and Foreman sighed, pulling the blanket up over him.
He watched the slow rise and fall of House's chest, shook his head, and got up with the intention of getting some coffee.
A hand gripped his wrist, though.
He turned back.
Then he nodded, sat back down.
House curled a little, so his back was against Foreman's hip.
Foreman hesitated for only a brief moment, before lying down next to him, and placing his arm over House's side.
Then he realized that would probably look weird to anyone walking into the sleep lab, and hung his labcoat over the camera, locking the door.
Then he resumed his position.
House's hand gripped the wrist over his stomach, preventing Foreman from leaving again.
House must be really loopy from the sedative--that was the only explanation.
In any case, he sidled up a little more closely, and House sidled back.
Foreman felt his eyelids starting to droop, as he lay there, the sound of House's slow, steady breathing carrying him off with its hypnotic rhythm.
Chase stopped cold, as he unlocked the door to the sleep lab room.
Well... at least they still had their clothes on....
And the wheelchair seemed to indicate that it wasn't necessarily what it looked like.
He walked in, shaking Foreman's shoulder.
A sleepy grunt was the only response.
"Chase, what's taking so--"
Cameron stopped, as she entered the room.
Chase shrugged, still shaking Foreman, who was displaying a surprising resistance to waking up.
He finally grunted again, opening his eyes and rubbing them.
"Hmm?" he mumbled.
Then he looked around, realizing exactly what the situation was.
He rolled his eyes at Chase and Cameron, who sighed, slightly relived.
Foreman sat up, looking at the other two.
"So... you don't tell anybody, I don't tell anybody you were planning on having sex in the hospital?"
Chase blushed slightly, nodding.
The blanket rustled a little, and House moved, sleeping brain wondering where the warm thing that had been lying along his back had gone.
He ended up with his cheek pressed against Foreman's hip, arm wrapped around the younger doctor's leg mid-thigh.
Foreman stared at him.
Chase and Cameron laughed.
Foreman sighed, gently easing House's arm off his leg.
House scooted further over, so his upper body was basically lying across Foreman's lap.
Chase looked like he was going to explode with held-in laughter.
Foreman rested his hand on House's back, making the other two blink.
"He's not an ass when he's asleep."
They shrugged as well, walking out.
Foreman gently eased House off his lap, back onto the bed.
House whined quietly in his sleep, at the loss of the warm contact.
Foreman scooted over again, lying on his back this time, as House migrated over, half on top of the younger doctor, right hand tangling itself in the purple shirt.
Foreman sighed, rubbing House's back as he slept.
House really was miserable.
A doctor Foreman only sort of recognized came in, looking at them oddly.
Foreman shook his head, glancing meaningfully at the wheelchair.
"Ok... well, you need to move him, we're gonna need the room."
Foreman nodded, shaking House's shoulder.
Foreman rolled his eyes, sliding his arms under House and lifting the lanky diagnostician.
The other doctor held the wheelchair still as Foreman set House's sleeping form in it.
House woke almost as soon as Foreman's hands slid out from under his back and knees.
"What...?" he mumbled, frowning. Then he seemed to orient himself, and sighed as Foreman pushed him out of the room.
Foreman grunted, as House yanked the brakes on, making Foreman run into the back of the wheelchair.
"What are you doing, House?"
House was struggling out of the chair, pale.
"I'm not... some damned... patient...." he was swaying.
Foreman didn't move to help him--he knew House was just dizzy.
House swallowed, stumbled, and reached for Foreman's shoulder.
Foreman was under his arm in a second.
House hung onto him, physically unable to keep himself standing.
Foreman carefully lowered him down, sat next to him, let him hold on in an effort to tell which way was up.
House really looked like shit.
Someone came by, asked if they needed the wheelchair.
Foreman opened his mouth to answer, but House beat him to it, telling them they didn't need it.
Foreman rolled his eyes.
House didn't notice; he was trying not to throw up.
It didn't work.
Half an hour later, House was lying in the CT scanner, asleep.
An hour after that, House was lying in bed in his apartment, and Foreman was locking the door on his way out.
Foreman smiled, as he walked down the steps. House was pretty miserable, usually. But his mouth had twitched, just a little, as Foreman tucked him in with exaggerated movements and silliness.
"No, you are not going to go test the patient for that!" yelled House, as Taub wrote something on the whiteboard.
Why had House shouted?
"Uh, you ok?" asked Taub, as House looked around, almost fearfully.
"Go the hell away! You're all morons! You're going to kill the patient!"
Foreman dropped his newspaper.
"House, you're having a temporal lobe seizure. Shut up."
Everyone looked considerably less confused after that.
"Why!? Just because you tell me to?! You're Cuddy's bitch, not my boss! You think you can just take over, but I'm not gonna let that happen!"
Foreman sighed, looking at the kids, who were starting to get worried again.
"One of you go get some ativan."
Taub got up, hurrying out.
"Now you're gonna sedate me?! I don't think so! No drugging for me! No way in hell! Get away! No drugs!"
Foreman shook his head when Kutner looked at him, worriedly.
"House. Look at me." said Thirteen, sounding completely calm, "What are the symptoms of a temporal lobe seizure?"
He stared at her.
"Uh... Short term memory impairment... Uncontrollable emotions, anger, fear, paranoia, irrationality..."
"I'm going to give you five random words, that's the standard diagnostic short term memory test, right?"
"Ok. Lamp, five, hat, red, marigold. Can you repeat them back to me?"
"Uh... a number... Uh...."
"Is that a good score for the test?"
"Do you agree that it is probably because you're having a temporal lobe seizure?"
Taub came back in with the ativan, House saw him, and jerked away, yelling that he wasn't going to let them drug him, and that he knew they were just trying to hurt him.
Thirteen gently put her hand on his arm.
"What did we just figure out?"
He looked at her.
She nodded, softly guiding him to a chair, which he refused to sit in, just tangled himself up with his crutches.
"It's ok. Nobody wants to hurt you. Taub, let him see the syringe."
Taub held it out, looking confused.
House looked at it.
"What's in it?" asked Thirteen.
"Ativan." answered House.
"What's ativan for?"
"Seizures, anxiety attacks."
"Are you having one of those?"
"Does it seem logical, and ok for us to give it to you?"
"Will you let me give it to you?"
Thirteen took the syringe, carefully inserting it into House's arm.
It took a few moments, but he finally seemed to calm some. Thirteen gently guided him into his office, got him to lie down on his recliner, and covered him with her labcoat as he slowly fell asleep.
She turned around.
Everyone except Foreman was staring at her; Foreman was just sitting with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't you think you should be focusing on the patient?" she asked, indicating the whiteboard, which was covered in life-threatening symptoms.
Kutner and Taub sighed, turning to look at the board, Foreman set his newspaper down to lead the differential until House woke up.