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It's a pretty calm, quiet night... the leg is not aching, a quiet hum of the fridge, and an occasional click of House's dying battery clock on the wall fills the silence.
You're under his arm, he's lovingly spooning you from behind, at home like this; that's the only time he allows himself the vulnerability of showing affections to you. Both of you are sleeping peacefully in the dead of night.
The man sleeps.
But the doctor inside is only napping.
One eye is always open.
You begin wheezing in the dead of night, your chest colapsing in on itself as if a dark canyon is supposed to form in its spot. It starts as a quiet rumble in your lungs, before it squeezes and refuses to give you any more air.
House's eyes immediately burst open, he knows these breaths, it's nothing healthy.
"Hey... hey-" His grogginess is shaken off shockingly quick in House standards.
You wake up to a heavy stabbing pain in your chest. The only thing you can do is wheeze out loud, as when you attempt to choke out a word, it pains you even more.
"G- G..." You wheeze out, feeling him roll you onto your back and firmly massage your chest. Said chest aches even more, as if you had needles in your heart. Your eyes fill with tears at this point, the pain is too much... for one second, you think that this may be it, that this is how it ends, a heart attack in your own bed, with your husband's terrified face hanging above you. You haven't seen him this worried in ages. The switch from husband to doctor flipped inside his head like in Pavlov's response.
"Don't talk..." Greg murmurs firmly, shutting you up as his hand settles on your chest, right over your heart. He counts to himself.
"Beating mile a minute... deep breath in, sweetheart." His voice is panicked... It's been ages since you've heard House *panic*.
As you attempt to breathe in, as per his orders, the stabbing pain interrupts you, making you appreciate the tiny bit of oxygen you got into your lungs for the time being.
"Okay- no deep breaths then. On your side you go, breathe what you can. Breathe." He murmurs roughly, leaning over to his bedside, pulling out a stethoscope he had left in there from former... funnier nights.
He quickly listened to your lungs... mostly clear despite the wheezing... the raging heart interrupted most of his listening, however.
"I'm sc... I'm s..." You wheezed out, feeling the pain dull into a brusining memory.
"I'm scared- Greg-..." You whispered in a shaky tone, finally able to speak a little more than pathetic wheezes.
"Shut up, you have no idea how scared I am right now." He whispers, pulling the stethoscope down from his head, and immediately reaches for his phone on the nightstand.
"How's the pain right now? What are you feeling?" He mutters as he flips it open, tapping through it quickly.
"Ambu- ambulance?" You asked as your body shook from the shock of death it had just experienced.
"Ambulance is too slow. Wilson lives closer." He grunts. "Tell me how you are."
"Chest hurts... heart is... beating... it hurts so bad, I think I might be having a heart attack." You whisper, and your body starts shaking as soon as you speak those words out loud, as if the body itself was terrified hearing the news you've just spoken into the safe space of your bedroom.
"Hey- hey, I'm the doctor here, wife. I get to make decisions whether you're having a heart attack or not. So hold on." He leaned closer to you, squeezing you tighter to him, and wiping your eyes for you.
"Shush... it'll be okay... shh..." His voice lowered from that scolding tone, and even if his voice shook, he masked it well to keep you sane and safe for this moment.
"Mm... Houze..?"
"Wilson. Car. Now. My apartment."
"What..? Islike... two am.."
"IT'S ABOUT MY WIFE WILSON, GET YOUR ASS HERE NOW, SHE'S HAVING HEART PALPITATIONS LIKE A MADMAN!"
"Jesus-" One can hear sheets rustling on the other side of the phone as Wilson sloppily gets out of bed, being awoken with a bit of an adrenaline dose House distantly shot into him.
The CT beeps loudly in the other room, disgruntled to be put to work so late in the night, but it begrudgingly scanned your body eighter way, while House sat in the scan room chair, Wilson beside him, both of them staring at the screen which was slowly forming your shots... House played with your wedding band in his hand, occasionaly squeezing the beloved item so hard that the metal made indents in the skin of his thumb.
"So... out of nowhere..?" Wilson breaks the silence delicately, voice ever so gentle about the current situation. Especially when he knows how tight and wound up House is about you and your health.
"She's never acted like this. No medical history of heart illnesses in family, she's not asthmatic..." House croaked, staring firmly at the screen as it showed your beautiful chest composition.
House always jokingly complimented your "chest" when he in fact meant your actual bone structure. Once you had gotten your ribs scanned per his order, to see if the machine was working properly, since it had shown some funny signs on a different patient, in which then House proceeded to state that you had the most perfect ribs he had ever seen. Thus, the chest joke was born.
That's how he got you on your first date, anyway.
A stupid chest joke.
Your strong lungs rested neatly against your heart, snuggling up close like three lovers. Everything about you was so perfect in his eyes, even your organs were.
"She said she had chest pains?" Wilson gently spoke up again, keeping quiet as he leaned on the desk beside House, both of them watching the screen.
"And had heart palpitations. I heard her heart hammering in her chest, I thought it was gonna burst right then and there..." House grimly stated, the idea of that too mortifying even for him.
"Greg... we'll see what's wrong with her. You've got me here, I'll help." Wilson caringly sets his hand on House's shoulder, using his first name, subtly trying to show how much he cares about the two of them. Both his best friend and his amazing wife.
"Thanks for driving us..." House mumbles out, not caring that he's actually thanked somebody for something this time.
"Don't thank for that. That was a no-brainer." James sighs as he watches the scan finish up.
"Go get your wife, I'll wrap these up for us." He patted his friend on the shoulder and leaned over to the computer, while House got up, limping over to the door. He pushed it open, entering in on you sitting up on the CT scan table.
"How're you feeling?" He limped closer to you, grabbing your hand and checking your pulse. He did it often as a little joke thing when holding your hand. 'Just checking that my girlfriend is alive'... now it might've been a little more serious.
"My chest still hurts, but it's more like... a bruise, than the sharp pain I was having." You sigh, running your hand through your hair.
"You wouldn't happen to have a hair tie, would you?" You mumble, despite the situation, you didn't need anybody seeing Mrs. House's current greasy state.
"Always prepared." He rumbled, pulling a hairband off his wrist, then stepping behind you to tie your hair up like the loving husband that he is.
"Ooh, you don't want me moving and doing things on my own. You do that only when you're in trouble, or you're trying to pamper me up for sex..." You crack a tired smile. Successfully, you hear a small chuckle behind you.
"Neither this time. Although I am down for the second if you promise no more nightly scares like that." He rounds the table back to your front, holding both of your hands on your lap with his single one, thumb stroking your fingers.
"My bad, then, I didn't mean to scare you." You lower your voice, looking into his eyes... his worried eyes.
"Not your fault, don't take the blame for something you didn't do like an attention whore." He rolls his eyes, making you chuckle.
In the meantime, House looks at your hands, gently slipping your ring back on.
"There we go... Like it should be." He sighed.
"Greg, don't be so nervous... it'll get better."
"On its own?" He looks up at you.
"Hm..?"
"*It* will get better? How? On its own?" He sighs a bit, clearly upset over the scare he endured.
"(Y/n), that's how it starts. A chest pain, then nightly wheezing, then a random collapse, and then you have tachycardia, and then a heart attack. *And then I don't have you anymore.*" His voice cracks a bit as he gets more and more worked up over what just happened.
"Okay- calm down, Greg... you're a doctor." You tsk, holding his hand firmly.
"Exactly, I'm a doctor, and therefore I know how it works-
"*And therefore*, you know that it doesn't have to be like that, you know there are a thousand possibilities as to what I could've just gone through, so there is no need to get worked up yet. No reason at all." You tilt your head, reaching out and holding his stubble-covered cheek, with a sigh of exhaustion.
House stays silent for a bit.
"You're right... I'm sorry. I should be giving you some support here, not whining." He leans his face into your hand, holding your wrist and moving the inside of your hand to his lips, kissing it several times.
"I'm sorry... I love you... I just love you so much..." He mumbled deeply under his breath, terrified someone would hear him say those words aloud.
"I love you too, Greg..." You whisper to him, leaning in and giving him a gentle, reassuring kiss. He happily returns, clearly wanting to provide the same kind of support to you.
"Hey-" Wilson's voice over the intercom system makes you flinch and pull away from the kiss, which House subconsciously chases before stopping himself.
"-sorry to disturb you. The results are ready, if you two wanna see."
A mere minute later, you're sitting in a soft armchair in House's office, while he and Wilson go over the CT scan result. House is biting on a pen, occasionally clicking with it as he stares at the disgusting shot that seems to stare right back. Mockingly so.
"What do *you* think?" House actually asks about somebody else's second opinion as he leans back in his seat, away from the shot.
"I... if you want my honest opinion, as an oncologist I..." Wilson swallows, then toughens up.
"I can’t ignore it, you see it too. That's a tumor." He sighs.
"Yeah." House confirms.
"On the heart." Wilson sighs again, stressed out beyond measure.
"Yeah."
"House I-"
"You can go, Wilson... thanks again." House sighs, setting his pen down with a clank.
"House- Greg, if you wanna talk about it, or if you want help figuring out the procedure, I can-"
"James. Go." House says a little firmer. It'd be wiser to leave him with his wife for now.
"Right... call me if you need *anything*." Wilson says, making his way out of the room.
Once the door shuts, House slides down in his seat, staring at the screen that shows a nasty white clump on the CT scan. Right next to your beautiful, perfect and pure heart.
"Greg."
That nasty bit of evil nestled so closely to something so sweet and beloved to him. How dare it make its lair there? How dare this gross thing live next to the most beautiful thing House has ever witnessed.
"Greg." Your voice calling him tugs him out of his spiral.
"Yeah?" He sits up, looking at you.
"I heard what James said. Go on." You sat up a bit, hugging the blanket you were given closer to your body.
"By... what I'm seeing here, it's pretty big for a tumor so close to the heart. I don't know *how* you weren't wheezing before, with the size of this thing..." House sighs, and gets up, out of his seat, walking to the small kettle pot he had in his office, turning it on.
"... frankly, I'm shocked I'm still talking to you. This fucker could be classified as its own organism." He grumbles hatefully, limping back to his table to retrieve a mug and a teabag. Forest berry flavor. He's making one for you.
"Is... can we do something about it?" You ask, watching him tear the bag with his teeth, and plopping it in the mug.
"We can." He muses, pouring water in, then a little extra white-ish liquid.
"You can either: be a pussy, and go through chemo, lose all your hair, healthy weight, color, and possibly the last bit of energy your body has... or you can have surgery." He limps over, cane thumping as he passes you the warm mug. Just warm. Not scalding hot. He knows you like your tea ready to drink.
"What's the difference?"
"Chemo takes long, is harmful to the body and might not even work." House sighs, very slowly getting down on his knees, with a pained expression as his leg protests.
"The surgery is immediate, but the tumor has a chance of re-growing... There are a lot of complications, given the fact that the bastard is buried right next to your heart..." House goes over the reasons as he lays his chin on your thigh, feeling your hand glide into his hair immediately.
Brushing, patting and scratching his scalp.
"So it's a hard decision." You mumble, your fingers lovingly going through his hair, the wedding band occasionally catching in the light of the lamp in his office, letting out a happy gleam.
"It is." He rumbles... there's a certain depression behind his eyes. Fear mixed with a sense of twisted duty. The phrase 'I should've seen the signs, I'm a doctor' is practically written in those blue pools of his.
"Stop that."
"Hm?"
"Stop that. Stop doing that, you look ugly when you do that."
"Do what?" He furrows his brows.
"Blame yourself like that! You hardly ever blame yourself, but boy, when you do, you're unbelievably ugly." You speak with a bit of a groan to your sentence, making him let out a chuckle. Better.
"Right, apologies, wife. You're always right." He sighs, straightening up a bit, and putting his hand up to lovingly stroke your thigh.
"How much time do you think I have to decide?" You mumble, curious as well as a little scared.
"Judging by how fat it is? Not a second to spare, wifey." He looks up at you, seeing you take a sip of your tea and ponder your options.
"The operation sounds better to me... it feels like it's too late for chemo." You tap the edge of the mug with your nail.
"You'd willingly get that risky operation on your heart? Even knowing the consequences?" House leans back, watching as you sip your tea with a shaky hand.
"What kinda question is that? Of course I would, god... I *want* it. I'm just way too terrified to go through with it..." You swallow your large gulp of tea, shamefully looking at your reflection.
"Would you trust me to do it?"
"Well... yeah, I would. I think I'd trust you the most out of all the possible doctors in this hospital. Even though you're not a surgeon... I think you could pull it off." You look down at him, pure love and trust in your eyes.
"Well... then I guess I should apologise." House presses his lips together shamefully.
"Huh? What do you mean?" You tilt your head with furrowed eyebrows.
He simply stays silent, one corner of his mouth raising into that horrible smirk.
"Greg?..." You furrow your eyebrows, and then you feel it..
"Greg- for what do you wanna apoh..." You slur, barely able to finish your sentence as your head falls to the side, and House quickly catches the mug he handed you so you don't spill the tea-drug mix inside.
"For that..." He hums, massaging his leg after getting up and setting the mug on his desk.
"Should've made you sign the agreement unknowingly first... ah, well, I'll just copy your signature, wifey." He sighs, getting up and limping over to you... He gently holds the right side of your face and leans down to kiss your forehead.
"Could've asked you sooner, wouldn't have had to drug you." He shakes his head.
Minutes later, he wheels you on a trolley bed through the -mostly empty- hospital, safe for a couple of night-shift nurses who couldn't care less about what House could be doing at three am.
"Misha, Annemarie, Lizbeth, Theresa, evening ladies." House hums out to the nurses as he walks by them, pushing open the large door to surgery.
"Operating on my wife without permission, I'll never hear the end of this." He sighed and began cutting up your shirt.
"And this too. One of your favorites, I'm sure, honey."
He hums as he marks lines on your chest with a marker, then leaves to get dressed up. Meanwhile, he whips out his phone to call up Wilson.
"Hey Wilson, you home?"
"I just got back home... how is she taking the news?" Wilson sighs, unbeknownst to him, House is staring at your unconscious body sleeping on the operating table.
"Uh... soundly?" He tilts his head, snapping a surgical mask on his face.
"Do you think you could come over to make sure my wife stays alive while I operate on her heart?" He also adds.
"I'm glad sh- WHAT?!" Wilson suddenly squawks out.
"Yeah, she decided to get the tumor removed," House mumbles as he snaps some gloves on.
"House, are you insane!? That is your wife! Call up Chase or- why am I even entertaining that- don't stab into her! You're not a surgeon!"
"When has that ever stopped me? Come over, I need to make sure she's breathing. Can't do it on my own."
"I'm not a surgeon either, House!"
"But you're an oncologist, so you kind of sort of know what the difference is between a tumor and some form of cancer, so come over, we'll put our heads together. Call it a date if you wanna." He mumbles, putting the call down as soon as he finishes his sentence.
"House- Hou- Greg?? Sweet Jesus, he'll kill his own wife!" Wilson quickly gets up out of his armchair, scaring his cat in the process.
In the meantime, House has gotten to the delicate process of having your sternum divided for access. He glared at the CT scans pinned to the light-up board, frowning when he saw the small mass of unwelcome material beside your heart.
He works for a good bit before he makes a hole big enough to work in.
As he does, he makes sure to check on your face a bunch of times.
Your breathing, your pulse... everything and anything that could hitch in this delicate process.
As he removed the bit of bone, he saw it... your heart. It was so large for your body. So brave, so hard working, so pure and so strong. The organ had a healthy color, bright red with blue-ish patches on some sides.
House stared at it for a long while, seeing the muscle beat... it was mesmerising, almost like seeing the universe itself, or perhaps a whale swimming in the deep blue ocean.
It was like something a mere human should never be allowed to see.
House couldn't help himself, he reached out, gently, and very, very softly held your heart in his hand. The powerful thump working so hard to keep your body alive was right there in his palm. It was beautiful.
The thing beat bravely in his palm, despite the scary situation it found itself in. That's very much like you... undefeated bravery in the face of certain doom.
'My heart is in your hands.' Funny. You said that on your wedding night. You two laid beside each other, the sheets a mess, bodies tired and well-loved, prepared to never leave each other's side.
"You definitely didn't expect me to take it so literally, did you, wife?" House murmurs, his eyes looking over your heart, his gaze tender and loving from under the surgical mask.
But on something so beautiful, a tumor dared to live. Fucker.
House frowned as soon as he saw a small peek of red from behind the heart.
An unnatural aberration.
"I know you're over there." House sighs, reaching inside with his tools. It's messy work, and so hard to do when there's just one of you... Usually, there's a team of ten for this.
"I don't think it'd be very funny for me to drop one of these pliers inside..." Greg rumbled, attempting to very gently push your heart aside, to see the tumor. And just the sight of it made him cringe in disgust.
"Get out of my wife's chest cavity." He murmurs, slowly, ever so slowly reaching in and carefully picking at the tumor.
Hard tissue.
The door opens behind him.
"I got here as fast as I could. How far along are- Jesus Christ!" Wilson immediately curses, trotting over as he barely has time to finish tying his surgical scrubs.
"Right on time." House hums as he focuses.
"Hold on, let me give you space in there," Wilson mumbles as he catches his breath, reaching in with surgical tools and adjusting House's uh... "hold" on you.
"Didn't expect to have you in my wife."
"Don't start..."
"And I certainly didn't expect to be in her at the same time."
"House, please- not while she's unconscious, that just feels wrong."
"You said it." House cocks his eyebrows as he grabs the tumor with medical pliers. And takes the scalpel from Wilson. He makes a few cuts, pausing each time the heart thumps, just to make sure he doesn't cut his beloved organ... and in a matter of minutes, he's holding the tumor up to both of the doctor's eyes.
"Look at it." He huffs.
"Little Bastard."
"Bullshit piece of..." House hatefully tosses the tumor into a bio trash bag, before getting back to your body. Sighing, he returns to cleaning up the rest of the tumor that has perchance stayed over, making sure everything is clear.
"You're going for really precise here..." Wilson mumbles under his surgical mask.
"It's my wife, of course I am." House huffs.
"Y'know, I find it absolutely endearing how you mush down when it comes to (Y/n)."
"Sorry?" House lifts his gaze and glares at the oncologist on the other side of the operating table.
"You heard me. I'm not backing down either from this. You get mushy!"
"You don't know jack about mushy, Wilson. You sob at anything that has bigger eyes or is even remotely close to an old romantic movie. Gross." House returns to work, shaking his head as he removes the last bit of unwanted material.
"How about you stop gushing and tell me this looks all good and clean."
"With an oncologist's eye, I'd say we're as clean as we can get. I would suggest looking into some medication to make sure the tumor doesn't come back."
"Of course I will look int- y'know what? You're getting too smart, get your Jewish hands out of my wife." House grumbles.
"What does it matter I'm Jewish now? I get it with the moose on a jew, but this?" Wilson snickers.
"I have to insult you on *something* here. You helped me twice in one night, I have to knock you down a peg or else you'll get a big head." House rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, right... You are welcome, by the way. I know how you struggle with thank-yous." Wilson smiles under his mask, getting away to clean up, since House seems to have it from here.
A few minutes of getting your sternum back together and stitching up on your chest, House had made sure to get you to an empty room, where he locked himself inside with you, popping a well-deserved Vicodin and slumping back in a chair with his head resting on the bed, on which you're recovering. He's even got his headphones on as a sweet treat after standing over your partially unconscious body for several hours.
After an unknown amount of time passes, you wake up with a dull pain in your chest... pain that gradually thickens to the point of properly waking you.
"Mm..." you attempt to get a word out, but your tongue seems slack in your mouth, a clear after-effect of anesthesia.
"Mleg... gleg..." your eyes blink as you attempt to jumpstart your body to work a little.
You spot a blurry blob lift up a little and limp closer. Greg.
"Hey, sleeping beauty, how are we feeling?" He muses, holding something clear in his hands.
"Fuck... you..." you finally manage to say, feeling your chest pulse in pain.
"Hey, that's not very nice!" He sighs, rolling his eyes as he taps your forearm, searching for a vein. Before he does anything, though, he gently tilts your head to him by holding your chin.
"How're you feeling? Don't push yourself to tell me."
"Chest hurts... can't move my arms without pain... my head hurts a little... and I feel betrayed by my own husband." You croak out.
"Hmm, while I understand the first few, I seem to be stuck on the last one." House muses, resuming tapping for a vein.
"You drugged me..."
"Like I do with anyone else I love. Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman..."
"You don't like Foreman though." You hum slowly as he inserts a needle.
"He's been working under me the longest. I dare say he deserves some slack, or else he'll get brain damage." House muses as he happily connects an IV to you.
"What am I being given..?" You ask slowly, voice still tired.
"The good stuff, so you'll start liking me again." He turns the clear IV baggie to face you, tapping the bulky text that says 'morphine' on it.
"Greg, oh my god..." you whisper as you feel the soothing coolness of the liquid entering your system, which House seems quite proud of.
"Yeah. That's what you should be sounding like." He smiled, sitting back down in his seat, watching you with a proud smirk.
"If you don't slurp out the rest, you don't mind if I finish, right? We don't want leftovers." He jokes as you're already half out of it.
"Well, while you're enjoying yourself, I can safely say that your surgery was a success. We'll medicate you to make sure the thing dies out completely, but I think your husband should've actually been a surgeon, not a diagnostician." House muses proudly.
"Matter of fact... scratch that, Cuddy would force me to actually do my job. Don't wanna spend more time away from you than I can take." He hums, which makes you smile. The feeling of love is amplified by the drugs in your system, but the feeling still comes from your heart.
"I love you, Greg..."
"You're just saying that... but I'll indulge this time. I love you too. Happy Valentine's Day, by the way." House leans in, holding your hand lovingly, watching as you close your eyes and relax. Good, you'll finally get some sleep instead of wheezing.