Hush Part Five!
Here it is...Part Five!
I must say, I'm pretty disappointed - but I've slaved over it for too long to try and worry about it anymore!
If that hasn't put you off...
House groaned, swallowing thickly against another wave of nausea threatened to drown him. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since they’d pushed the Narcan through him, he’d lost count after twenty minutes and eighteen seconds. His body was eradicating all other thoughts with its insistent attention seeking behaviour, most notably, pain in his leg and head.
His suicide nurse was getting bored. She’d read through three magazines already, and was now engrossed in a book. She’d long since stopped worrying about the moans and groans coming from her patient. Sighing, she glanced up to do another visual check, raising her eyebrows at House’s intense glare. “Not my fault you OD’d” she said tauntingly, smirking as he squeezed his eyes shut and choked back another moan.
The true meaning of ‘uncomfortable’ was becoming agonisingly clear to him laying in that bed. The sweat covered sheets were making him cold. The hard mattress had ensured his butt was numb, his neck was killing him, and his shoulder’s were letting him know of their earlier ill-treatment. The fact that his arms were stuck out at such awkward angles, in the restraints, ensured that his hands had lost all colour and feeling too.
On a positive note, the thumping in House’s head was steadily decreasing; he could feel his heart returning to normal through the deafening sound ringing in his ears. He stared out of the window, out into the small courtyard reserved for the hospital staff who regularly nipped out for a smoke. It was deserted, of course, as it was too early in the morning for some, and too late at night for others. Where the hell is Wilson?
His head snapped round when he heard a click as the door to his room closed softly. An elderly doctor, who looked like he should have retired decades ago, stared down on his patient with unmasked bemusement playing over his wrinkled features. “You should be sleeping” he muttered lightly, crossing the room to get a better look at the silent heart monitor. Apparently, the nurse couldn’t read with it beeping so much, and she’d switched it off in disgust upon entering the room. I think we’ve established that the entire staff on the night shift are sadistically challenged morons…
House glared icily at his doctor, ignoring the droplets of sweat making their way down his temple. “It’s hard to sleep when some idiot doctor has given…” he gasped, remembering only at the last moment that he really didn’t want them to know about him being a doctor, “has drugged me.” He covered well; the old doc seemed to buy it.
“You’ve got an appointment at eight. I’d hate for you to be too tired…” the doctor chose to ignore House’s comment about the drugging, instead opting to talk at him as though he were simple. “Once you’ve been given psych clearance, you can leave.”
Psych clearance, oh great. “Don’t need to see a shrink - it was an accident.” Playing the dumb patient route seemed to be the safe bet right now. “So get me my discharge papers, and I’ll go.” The statement would have been commendable, had House not been shaking uncontrollably throughout it.
The doctor cocked his head, regarding the other man thoughtfully. “An accident?” he asked, unable to hide a smirk.
“Yeah…as apposed to ‘I did it on purpose’.” House spoke slowly, in the most annoying tone he could muster. This doctor was seriously creeping him out, and he almost felt like he was being cruelly toyed with in some way. Through the haze of withdrawal, it was hard to tell.
“And, you’d like to leave?” the doctor was fishing something from his white- than-white coat pocket, which piqued House’s interest just so.
God, you’re good. “Yes” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Do you realise how many overdoses we get here, Mr Barrett?” the doctor asked, keeping the light, dangerously playful tone in his voice.
House swallowed back a smart retort, settling for a quiet “no…” Something told him he wouldn’t get a prize for knowing the exact number.
“I’ll give you a clue…it’s less than twelve in a year” the doc fiddled with a syringe in his fingers, tauntingly showing enough of it to put House on edge. “Do you know why we get less than twelve overdose cases here per year?”
House had a feeling he was about to find out. “Why?” he choked, unable to stop his breath from coming in short, sharp gasps. Don’t panic - he’s just messing with your head!
The doctor leaned into House face and snarled, “Because this is a nice, clean town. We spent a long, long time getting rid of people like you and we don’t intend to encourage your return in a hurry!” he spat angrily, sneering as House turned his face away. “Consider this an ‘enjoy your trip’ present - I don’t ever want to see your face here again.”
With that, he plunged the contents of his syringe into House IV port, throwing the empty vial onto the bed. “You’ll be pleased to hear,” he started, returning to his smug, light tone, “you can’t OD on this stuff.” He chuckled; savouring the gleam of hatred in House’s eyes as he succumbed to the next dose of Narcan.
He can’t do this! It’s…its - its immoral! House’s inner Wilson was livid. House’s own inner voice was slightly in awe. He’d finally met someone who was as much of a bastard as himself…
Wilson cursed, loudly. This was the third set of lights that had turned on him. He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He used the time to scan the road signs; he’d been lost too many times to simply ignore them now.
“Warren hospital…” he muttered as he drove up to the unfamiliar hospital. He’d gone over every possibility of how House had ended up so far away from home, coming up with nothing he wanted to dwell on for too long. He hadn’t ridden; his bike had been at his apartment. He wouldn’t have used public transport; too much for the leg…
Wilson pulled up in the large parking lot, easily finding a space. You’re the only person stupid enough to be out at this time of night…err, early morning. He jogged up to the main entrance, vainly convincing himself that House would appreciate him getting there that much quicker.
Leaning over the small desk at reception, he glanced down the deserted corridors. He almost expected to see a lone tumbleweed drift past at any moment, it was that quiet. He blamed the deep silence for the fact that he jumped like a startled idiot when someone cleared their throat behind him.
“Can I help you?” he turned to find a stern, sour faced nurse raising her eyebrows at him.
It took him a second to find his voice, after driving in silence for so long. “Uhh, yeah - I’m here for Mr, err, Barrett…I’m his doctor.” Damn, you sound more like a bumbling idiot!
The nurse’s eyes widened noticeably at the statement. “I’m afraid he’s asleep right now…if you care to wait a moment, I’ll see if I can find his attending doctor for you.”
Wilson nodded, politely. He didn’t believe for one second that House would actually be sleeping. Not unless he was unconscious, and the nurse had specifically said ‘sleeping’. Something’s going on…
The nurse disappeared down one of the empty corridors, leaving Wilson alone. He began his search for clues by leaning back over the small receptionist’s station, grabbing Mr Barrett’s file and walking briskly away. You can always lie and say someone offered to take you to see him.
Now all he needed was a plan of the hospital. Using his initiative, which had just about woken up from the journey, he followed signs through to a stairwell, glancing over some test results as he walked briskly up a flight to the next floor. He regretted not bringing his doctor’s coat. It would have been much easier to blend in if he looked more like a doctor, and less like someone who’d dressed in the dark, which he had.
It didn’t seem to be a problem though, as the floor where House’s room was located seemed just as deserted as the other floors. Room 402…
He heard a loud curse, followed by a crash coming from down the hall. House! He sped up, breaking into a brisk half-jog. As he approached the end of the corridor, a young nurse came stumbling out of room 402, scowling and holding her uniform as far away from her body as she could. She didn’t even look up as she passed Wilson in her hurry to get cleaned up.
He glanced around guiltily before quietly sneaking into the room. He blew out a shaky breath when he saw the back of his friend, sweating, shaking and generally looking like crap. He imagined the scene from the front was pretty similar. He’s not injured…why the hell is he restrained?
House was twisted uncomfortably onto his left hand side, the restraints denying him the ability to stay there unaided. His hand was grasping the handrail, taking his entire upper body weight while he retched over the edge of the bed. He had his back to the door and was still unaware of his visitor, even when the door clicked behind him.
“House,” Wilson crossed to the other side of the bed, wincing as he saw the miserable pile of vomit pooled on the floor. “You okay?” he mentally slapped himself for asking the question.
“No…” House squinted up at him, his eyes red rimmed. “You…took your…time” he gasped, his voice lacking in everything but pitch.
“We’ve gotta get you out of here…” House looked surprised at that admission. He’d expected Wilson to act all self-righteous and make him stay. Plus, he hadn’t gotten a ‘what the hell have you done?’ question, yet. He doesn’t know you OD’d…don’t tell him ‘till you’re in the car! Ah, one problem at a time…
“I’ve got no cane…or clothes…or pills.”
Wilson frowned. “So, you got here…how? Aside from being naked and pill-free.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied weakly, ignoring the interrogation, “get a wheelchair…and get me the hell outta here…before she gets back.” Please, just trust me for once!
Wilson stood firm, “You didn’t come by ambulance, unless you were already here - and since you don’t do anything but watch TV on a Wednesday night-”
“Jesus, Wilson!” House hissed miserably, recovering slightly from the retching, “if I wanted to be rescued by Columbo, there’s a good chance I would have called him!” he gulped in some deep breaths, struggling to keep his red rimmed, watering eyes open, being unable to wipe them himself. “Just get the wheelchair…please.”
“This conversation isn’t over” Wilson warned, pointing a threatening finger at his flushed friend before he retreated from the room. Whatever he’s being treated for obviously isn’t life threatening…maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt, just this once. Just get him to Princeton in one piece.
House groaned, slamming his head back down on the pillow as though it might help fight off the nausea. It didn’t. Wilson could have taken the restraints off!
Wilson retuned, looking shifty and guilty. He’d taken the wheelchair from some poor man in the room next door. House better appreciate all this…
“Maybe I should have called Columbo,” House ranted groggily, the pain in his leg threatened him into delirium, “he’d have gotten this rescue over and done with by now…” Keep talking, don’t be sick. Keep talking, don’t be sick.
“Are you saying they’re keeping you here against your will?” Wilson asked, gently freeing House’s bruised wrists. Why? What did you do?
House gave him the equivalent of a disbelieving shake of the head, but minimising the shaking part so as not to disturb the angry migraine behind his eyes. “Gee, were the restraints too subtle?” he asked, “Should I have requested a set of irons instead?” Come on Wilson, take me home - please! Get me out of this place!
“Calm down!” Wilson whispered urgently, catching the questioning frown from his ‘damsel in distress’, “Your heart rate is in overdrive.”
“Is that a medical term I missed out on in college?” Or are you more fucked up than you initially thought? Wilson’s talking in gibberish…or you’re not hearing him right…
Wilson blushed, kicking out the footrests on the chair. “Sorry, I’ve got a patient who’s obsessed with space. He’s eight, and talking in code is the only way he’ll listen.”
“And you mistook him for me. Nice!” House replied, slightly relieved, wiping his damp forehead with the back of his hand.
“Seriously, your heart rate is abnormally high” Wilson said anxiously, keeping a close eye on the monitor. What aren’t you telling me? House rewarded his curiosity by pulling the pads from his chest. The sooner he told Wilson about the Narcan, the sooner he’d need to purchase some heavy duty ear plugs.
“Now it’s not,” he said, sitting up and grasping the sides of the bed unsteadily. “Personally, I think we should get the hell out of here before my attending comes back to check on his flat lining patient.” he added with ensued urgency. A whole choir of voices were singing out in his head now - Time to go! Time to go! Time to go!
“Can you get in the chair?” Wilson asked, quickly helping his friend remove the IV lines from his arm, though not before noticing the lack of pain meds. No wonder you’re so touchy…well, more than usual… He received an unhelpful, low growl in response to his question. You’ll have to be more specific than that, House! he thought as he desperately pulled the chair closer to the bed. “Ready?”
House rubbed his wrists tenderly, swaying slightly as he slid his legs off the side of the bed. His leg was crying out for attention, sending agonising jolts of pain ripping through his body. Wilson made no attempt at hiding his concern as the Diagnostician brought his hands up to his face and curled over, gasping and breathing shakily.
“House?” he moved across to put a hand on the other man’s shaking shoulder.
“My head,” came the muffled reply from behind the hands, “is killing me.” That’s not the only thing that’s killing you.
Wilson froze as he heard a door slam shut nearby. “C’mon, time to go.” This is a bad idea. He looks like he’s gonna pass out any minute now.
House placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder, for support, and managed to hop, skip and drop into the chair with a grunt. The thought of what these lunatics would do if they found him mid-escape was enough to ensure he hurried as much as physically possible. He only hoped Wilson would feel the same way without having it spelled out for him. “Push. Quickly.” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to push away the build up of nausea. How long since they gave you the last push of Narcan? Shit…you can’t remember can you? Not long enough…Wilson’s gonna kill you if you throw up in his car.
Luckily, Wilson didn’t particularly want to get caught smuggling patients from hospitals, mainly due to the legal complications that may arise if House had managed to do something stupid beforehand, resulting in police involvement.
He pushed them speedily towards the elevator doors, giving himself a figurative pat on the back for not divulging his name with the nurse from the hall. The reasoning behind House’s use of ‘Joseph Barrett’ would have to be discovered in the car. Right now, there were several sets of footsteps echoing in the hallway, heading for their direction that concerned him more…
TBC…