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Title: What You Need
Author: Namaste
Summary: "So where do you buy these things? Do they have cane stores?" -- John Henry Giles, "DNR" Short stories of how House came by his canes over the years, told through a series of flash fics. PG. This one is about 400 words. Part one of thirteen.



The first one is standard issue hospital drab, a dull gray that's supposed to blend into the background along with IV stands and bed rails. There's a hard black plastic grip and House feels sweat under his palm the first time he wraps his fingers around it. It's everything he hates: utilitarian, boring, another sign of how his life has changed.

"It's progress," Wilson points out. "First the wheelchair, then crutches, now the cane, and then ..."

"Then nothing." House holds the cane between his fingers, the metal cool beneath his skin. The crutches are on the floor still within reach if he wants them. "You've seen the same scans I have. It's not going to get any better than this."

"You don't know that. Maybe if you ..."

House stares at Wilson, cuts off whatever useless bit of advice he was about to give. Wilson doesn't say anything else, just stands there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he looks down at House.

House waits until Wilson leaves -- until there's no one there to watch -- before he places the cane on the floor, to push down on it and feel it take his weight. He stands there, in front of the couch, hating the way his body angles to one side, the way it depends on this piece of aluminum and plastic. It doesn't feel right, doesn't feel normal, but then normal doesn't mean anything anymore.

He takes a half-step out away from the couch, and thinks for a moment that he's going to fall, that his leg will betray him again. He tries another, feels the weakness on his right side. He feels exposed, like some old fort on a coastline whose defenses have crumbled into the sea. He's vulnerable. Open to attack from one side.

He ignores the therapist's instructions and moves the cane over to his right hand, braces himself against it, and takes another step.

The second one is polished mahogany ...

(no subject)

Date: 2008-07-14 11:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com
Ooh, this is very nice. I love how House feels "open to attack from one side." His body has already attacked him once, and it makes perfect sense that he's literally defending that side by using the cane in that hand.

An elderly man I knew (he was a member of our church and a retired doctor who'd founded the town's first hospital) had to walk with a cane in the last few years of his life. He told me once, "You know, a lot of people think this a sign of getting feeble, but they're really very handy." Which he demonstrated by whipping it out and pulling a hassock to his feet. I often think of him when I see House doing his cane tricks. :)

(no subject)

Date: 2008-07-15 12:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] namasteyoga.livejournal.com
Thank you. I suddenly had the thought as a defense mechanism, and started playing with the idea. And they are handy for more than their intended purpose, aren't they?

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