Major props to Auditrix, who's brilliant blog was the inspiration for this. It's very much a WIP, so feel free to comment away.
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last night’s sleep rating

Part One

House was lying strapped down in an operating room. He was shaking in pain and screaming as his leg visibly tore apart: skin, fatty layer, muscle, tissue while Dr. Engel calmly said, “We’re not sure what’s causing your pain, Gregg. We can give you some Vicodin for it.”

It was gore beyond even what a doctor could stomach, and the smell…

House woke with his heart pounding and tears in his eyes. His hoarse throat let him know that the screaming hadn’t only been in his dream. Throwing his blankets aside, he shoved his right leg over the side of the bed. He followed it with his left and shakily placed his head in his hands.

His right elbow dug painfully into his bad leg, causing him to look down at the offending body part. By the time he had been correctly diagnosed a majority of the muscle tissue around the infarction had died and had to be surgically removed, not to mention the artery cleared and repaired. The result was a large sunken scar that ran horizontally across his thigh, now clearly visible below his boxers.

House grabbed his cane from the side of the bed and slowly rose with a groan. His leg was always stiff when he first woke up so it felt like an eternity getting across the bedroom and into the bathroom. He leaned against the sink as he filled a glass with water, studiously avoiding his reflection. He knew that he was sporting the “Haven’t slept since Reagan was in office” look without getting the mirror’s input. He caned back to the bedroom, glass in hand. With his throat not quite so raw, he was able to focus on other things, including his sweat-soaked AC/DC t-shirt. He quickly ripped it off and grabbed a clean one off the top of his dresser.

I should sleep in this for another…he glanced at the clock, which blared an apologetic 3:56…two hours to get it properly wrinkled and wear it to work. I do believe that if I then wear it with only a jacket over it we’ll get to see if it is actually physically possible for someone to shit a brick.

House couldn’t help but smile. Finding small ways to annoy Cuddy was one of the entertainments of his day. She was so uptight it was almost too easy. She didn’t realize it was his way of saying, save the bluster and stress for the things that really matter.

House eyed his bed, trying to decide whether to attempt sleep or not. It would be nice to grab a couple more hours of shut-eye. He could even set the alarm another half hour forward. The flock would wait if he were a little late to rounds. On the other hand, once he had a nightmare, it tended to come back every time he fell asleep for the rest of the damn night. House shuddered, recalling tonight’s gem that had woken him.

After another slow sip of water, House eased himself back into bed. Even his damn sheets were sweaty. Great. Because laundry is such a fun thing to do. The thought of something as mundane as household chores relaxed him and made the nightmare seem miles away. Maybe I’ll get some sleep yet.

An hour of tossing and turning later, House finally gave up the cause as hopeless. It was better than slipping back into nightmares but still frustrating as all hell. One good night’s sleep. Just one. Guess that’s too much to ask for.

He repeated the process of getting out of bed and eased himself into the shower. He hated the bars and bench that screamed “handicapped,” but a nasty slip a couple years ago had convinced him. That and the lecture that Wilson had given him the entire damn time he was stitching up his head.

After that, he limped back into the bedroom and threw the acceptably wrinkled shirt back on. He added jeans to the ensemble and grabbed a jacket out of the closet. His hand hovered over the button-down shirts next to the jackets, but he grinned and decided to go with his original plan.

He arrived late that morning, earning a “You’d think that with all that time you save not shaving or, say, changing your clothes you’d at least be able to get here on time” from Cuddy. A quick stop for coffee and to verify that Foreman was late yet again and House was able to hole up in his office.

He lowered himself into his chair, turned on the computer, and logged in. The blank screen stared back at him. After some thought he typed in:

mood: crabby
last night’s sleep rating: C-


Part Two
House paused mid-song to take a sip of scotch and savored the Black Label going down his throat. It was midnight on a Tuesday (well, Wednesday, technically, but who the hell actually called it that?) and the neighbors were probably pissed, but he didn’t care. He was exhausted but not interested in sleep. Last night’s nightmare was still…bothering him. It was more like “scaring the shit of him,” but what the hell kind of forty-six year old was afraid of a nightmare?

He finished off his drink and steeled himself. He had been sitting at the piano for two hours straight and getting up wasn’t going to be fun.

Okay…stand up, take a Vicodin, and go to bed. You’re acting like a goddamn toddler about what was only a bad dream.

House rose from the bench with a grunt and hobbled over to the kitchen to throw his glass in the sink. He had considered refilling it, but his little white oval friend would help him sleep better than alcohol. Or I could take both and then have no dreams at all. Of course, waking up would be good. Well, better than the alternative. He told the little voice that whispered otherwise to shut it and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

House procrastinated as long as possible, even taking the time to shave. It would be a scruffy five-o’clock shadow by the time he showed up at work, although coming in clean-shaven someday would be worth the shock value. He finally had no choice but to face his bed.

He sat down, swung his left leg over, and used his hands to life his right up and into a semi-comfortable position. A pillow under the leg, a pill in the mouth, and House was finally forced to turn off the light. He spent almost an hour trying to think of anything but the other night’s dream. His exhaustion finally started winning out and he could feel himself drifting off. He saw the clock turn over to 1:00 through heavy eyelids and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

“GOOD MORNING my sisters and brothers in Christ. Today is a most blessed day indeed! Let us give thanks to the Lord…”

House snarled and shut off the alarm. The excessive cheeriness of the local Christian station was the only thing that grated enough to get him out of bed. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time. Had he really managed to get six solid hours of sleep? That hadn’t happened in almost a month. He popped a Vicodin and waited for it to take effect so he could get out of bed without Chevy-Chase-as-Ford-ing it up.

After ten minutes he got up and showered and dressed. The traffic was especially bad, causing House to growl with impatience. The leg dictated that as little time be spent in the car as possible and if things didn’t pick up soon he’d be paying for it for the rest of the day. It was times like these that he supposed it was a good thing that the hand controls kept him from “communicating” with his fellow commuters. He swore and turned up the volume as George Thorogood came on the radio.

This time it was the flock that was waiting for him. He grabbed some coffee and herded them off to rounds. He was finally able to sit down in front of his computer around ten. This one would be easy.

mood: amazingly well-rested
last night’s sleep rating: A-

Oh, as the Night Owl, I can *feel* this one... LOL :blink: I don't think I've slept an entire night through in weeks. *sigh* Last night, I had the brilliant idea of heading to bed early, because I was tired... But, I was too tired to actually sleep... 'tired but wired' syndrome. LOL But, hey, I got up again and took over England in a vid game, so all was not lost. :lol: Surfed the 'net until exhaustion brought temporary unconsciousness... ahhh, bliss. LOL

You already know how much I love Aud's blog B) and I'm seriously enjoying this, as well. :D I love the thought of House carefully executing his war against Cuddy--that's the way I 'read' his actions, too. LOL LOL about the Christian radio station, too. Only House would think of things like that. *g* Looking forward to more... :)

Hugs,
Sanlin

Thanks for the feedback Sanlin! I really appreciate it.

Sorry to hear you've joined the House Club of Insomniacs. May you get a full night's rest tonight.

Yeah, well, House strikes me as a not-exactly-morning-type who would need extra...incentive to actually get up.

And, the careful execution of bugging Cuddy is a greater part of his personality. House doesn't do anything without reason or purpose. I mean, the man that has Wilson's TIES memorized certainly would know how he himself looked.

Veronica