House and the P.L.O.T. Device: 17 of ?
The Diagnostics office is dark and empty when Chase returns from the circus, toting sample containers of the elephant’s skin scrapings, saliva, and bedding, and a rapidly-cooling funnel cake. Naturally, there are no clues as to where House is, or Wilson, either. He has to ask what seems like everyone in the hospital before he finds out that Wilson has been admitted and assigned to a private room on the fourth floor. He heats the funnel cake in the microwave in the third-floor lounge before taking the elevator up-the powdered sugar melts, and the funnel cake takes on a limp, soggy appearance.
When he finds the room, Wilson is sitting up in the hospital bed, with House nestled in beside him. The television in the corner by the ceiling is on low.
“Hi,” he says uncomfortably. “Here’s…this.” He holds out the funnel cake.
“Just what he needed,” Wilson notes. “More junk food.”
“He asked for it.” Chase shrugs.
House starts eating the funnel cake. “This isn’t very good,” he notes.
“Sorry,” Chase says.
“Don’t be,” Wilson says. “He’s been spoiled flat rotten today.”
Chase isn’t so sure about that-it must’ve been scary for House to see Wilson, his caregiver, stop breathing and fall off an elephant. “They’re keeping you in overnight?” He changes the subject.
“Yes,” Wilson says. “Just for observation.”
“We’ll do the scratch test tomorrow,” House adds, yawning.
“Okay,” Chase says. He hovers in the doorway, not sure what he’s supposed to be doing. If House is going home, he’ll need someone to talk him there and look after him-but maybe arrangements have already been made.
“I’m staying here,” House says after a moment. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, looking up at Wilson.
“I think I’m all right,” Wilson answers.
House turns back to Chase and dismisses him. “You can go home.”
“Thanks,” Chase says, feeling obscurely let down. It’s stupid-House and Wilson don’t need him; there’s no reason he should wish they’d want him to stay.
“Thanks for helping out,” Wilson adds. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Chase agrees, feeling a little better.
#
Wilson is off in a pleasant, antihistamine-induced doze, when House, sitting up in the bed, pokes him in the chest. “You really think I’m spoiled?” he asks.
“No,” Wilson mumbles. “I’m sleepy.”
“I don’t think I’m spoiled,” House says uncertainly.
Realizing House is expressing a serious concern, for once, Wilson struggles to wake up enough to address it. “No, you’re not. You’re just….” He rubs at his face with his right hand-the left is still tethered to an IV. “Happy.” The point of putting House through the P.L.O.T. device in the first place was to encourage nerve regeneration-but Wilson considers giving House a taste of a happy childhood to be an important side benefit.
House absorbs that. “Okay.” He flops back down in the small space between Wilson’s body and the bed rail, his back pressed against Wilson’s side.
“Your leg feel okay?” Wilson asks.
“Yeah. The morphine’s good.”
“We need to check the morphine pump tomorrow,” Wilson remembers. “It probably needs refilling.”
“I’ll remind you,” House says. “If I remember.”
Wilson smiles. “Did you have fun at the circus? Until the end?”
“Yeah. My favorite was the--” he yawns “-stuff in jars.”
“Not the elephant?”
“I liked her till she made you sick.”
“Well, it wasn’t her fault,” Wilson points out.
“Maybe,” House says dubiously, like he suspects Elsa might have opted to be allergenic on purpose. “I should have had Chase bring me my lion.”
Wilson hadn’t noticed that House was particularly attached to the lion-he didn’t carry it everywhere, the way Chase had with Puppy-but maybe he needs it to sleep. “We could call him,” he suggests. “He’s probably not home yet.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m glad I’m an adequate stuffed-animal substitute,” Wilson says.
“A stuffed animal is an inadequate Wilson-substitute,” House corrects him.
“Well, that’s true. I heard your lion is a terrible cook.”
“My lion isn’t real.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were admitting that.”
“Chase had to pretend Puppy was real because otherwise he didn’t have anybody to love him,” House explains. “Poor little bastard.”
#
House isn’t sure which part of this whole mess was worst-that he has to be quiet and let Wilson rest, or his worry that if he falls asleep, he’ll wind up wetting the bed. He’s sure that if he does, the whole hospital will find out, and he’ll never live it down. Forget his lion, he should have asked Chase to bring him something to read. Or one of his handheld video games. He doesn’t like playing them with the sound off, but in the interests of helping Wilson get better, he could.
After watching Wilson sleep for as long as he can handle it, he starts wondering if he might have, perhaps, left one of his video games in the office. He knows he took his best toys home, but maybe he has an old one-maybe that one the autistic kid gave him-knocking around in one of his desk drawers. If not a game, then maybe one of the books they bought for mini-Chase. He’d almost consider Bible Stories for Wee Folk. Almost.
Once he’s had the idea of going to his office to look for something to entertain himself, he can’t not do it. Wilson wouldn’t like the idea of him wandering off on his own-never mind that he works here, and he walks around by himself all the time. But as long as he’s back before Wilson wakes up again, he won’t worry and he’ll have nothing to complain about.
He’s on two-hour neuro status obs, and the last one was less than an hour ago. There’s no way a simple trip to his office will take anywhere close to an hour-more like ten minutes. Decided, House gets out of bed-quietly, being careful not to disturb Wilson’s rest-and picks up his crutch. His shoes are lying discarded by the bed-he ought to put them on; God knows the floors in this place are filthy. But putting on his shoes seems like it would somehow make this little expedition into going out, and he knows Wilson doesn’t want him going out on his own, while he’s little. He wouldn’t put shoes on to go get something from the other room at home. And this is no different, really.
So he slips out of Wilson’s room. There’s one set of elevators a few yards to the left, but he’d have to go right past the nurses’ station to get to them. Most of the night nurses are not acquainted with him-they won’t know that it’s far, far better to mind their own business where he’s concerned. He decides to go to the right, where there’s another set of elevators a little further away.
He makes it there without incident-although when he passes one room, the old woman inside calls out, disbelievingly, “Tommy?” He ignores her and keeps going.
The elevators come much more quickly in the middle of the night. He steps inside and rides down to his own floor.
Once he’s on the right floor, he has to trek halfway across the hospital to get to his office. He definitely should have given this more thought. Still, he’s come this far….
Hospitals, of course, never really sleep. Some departments, like the ER and Labor and Delivery, can be more active at night than in the day. But most of the other departments quiet down considerably at night, and some-like Optometry and Podiatry-shut down completely. The technicians in radiology, ultrasound, MRI, and the other imaging departments mostly work during the day-which makes the graveyard shift the perfect time to send his people in to use the high-end diagnostic equipment without interference, and without waiting for a spot in the schedule.
Now, the comparative emptiness of the place is useful for another reason-no one is likely to notice an unattended kid wandering around. Patients are either asleep or too concerned with their own problems, nurses and the few doctors working the night shift are either racing from one crisis to another or holed up in the offices and lounges trying to stay awake. The few people he encounters in the hallways pointedly don’t notice him-if they saw him, they’d have to make the time to figure out where he belongs and get him back there, so they don’t see him.
However, when he gets to his office, there’s a different problem. He doesn’t have his keys. Has no idea, in fact, where his keys are-probably either in a locker in Nwebuze’s lab, with the rest of the clothes he’d been wearing the day he was transformed, or at home in Wilson’s silly little key bowl by the door. He rattles the knob, but naturally the place is locked up tight-he really tore into the kids the last time one of them left the place standing open all night.
He moves on and tries Wilson’s door-he figures it’s a little bit more likely that might be unlocked. But it isn’t. He came here without any clear objective, but he feels inexplicably frustrated and defeated--like he had been inches away from having something he really wanted, only to have it whisked away at the last moment.
He stands despondently in front of the doors for a few minutes. It seems like such a waste to have come all this way, only to trek back upstairs empty-handed. He’s about to give up and do just that, though, when he has a brainwave.
The peds oncology playroom isn’t far, and that should be deserted at this hour, too. All the cancer kids will be sound asleep, visions of chemo-vomit dancing in their heads. He can borrow something from there, and have Chase return it-whatever it is-in the morning. Cheerfully, he sets off down the hallway.
As he nears the playroom, it occurs to him that it might be locked as well-but luck is with him, for a change, and it isn’t. He leaves the overhead lights off-no need to attract undue attention-but turns on a small floor lamp so he can look at his choices.
They have both a Playstation and a Wii, but he’s likely to be caught if he tries to nick such a substantial item-besides, he’d need a stepladder to connect it up to the TV back in the room. There’s a large selection of DVDs, leaning heavily toward Disney titles. Same problem there. The smaller toys are stacked on shelves and piled in bins. There are way too many dolls, puppets, and soft toys-probably for the kids to engage in dramatic play surrounding their feelings about dying before ever touching the interesting bits of the opposite sex. House ignores them. Legos and matchbox cars, too noisy. Remote controlled cars, tempting-especially when he sees they have monster trucks. He can get Wilson to buy him one of those when he gets out. Finally, he unearths an ancient Game Boy. It’s so old the screen is only in black and white, but it works, and he finds two games for it-Tetris and one of the early Mario games.
Not as good as his own, but good enough. He pockets the games and hides the Game Boy itself inside his waistband-no need to advertise that he’s stealing toys from cancer children. He’s not really stealing, of course, just borrowing, but an outside observer might not see it that way.
He’s about to begin the long process of standing up when, suddenly, the overhead lights come on. “Where are you supposed to be now, honey?” a voice says from behind him.
“Oh, shit,” House breathes. Caught.
On to chapter 18!
When he finds the room, Wilson is sitting up in the hospital bed, with House nestled in beside him. The television in the corner by the ceiling is on low.
“Hi,” he says uncomfortably. “Here’s…this.” He holds out the funnel cake.
“Just what he needed,” Wilson notes. “More junk food.”
“He asked for it.” Chase shrugs.
House starts eating the funnel cake. “This isn’t very good,” he notes.
“Sorry,” Chase says.
“Don’t be,” Wilson says. “He’s been spoiled flat rotten today.”
Chase isn’t so sure about that-it must’ve been scary for House to see Wilson, his caregiver, stop breathing and fall off an elephant. “They’re keeping you in overnight?” He changes the subject.
“Yes,” Wilson says. “Just for observation.”
“We’ll do the scratch test tomorrow,” House adds, yawning.
“Okay,” Chase says. He hovers in the doorway, not sure what he’s supposed to be doing. If House is going home, he’ll need someone to talk him there and look after him-but maybe arrangements have already been made.
“I’m staying here,” House says after a moment. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, looking up at Wilson.
“I think I’m all right,” Wilson answers.
House turns back to Chase and dismisses him. “You can go home.”
“Thanks,” Chase says, feeling obscurely let down. It’s stupid-House and Wilson don’t need him; there’s no reason he should wish they’d want him to stay.
“Thanks for helping out,” Wilson adds. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Chase agrees, feeling a little better.
#
Wilson is off in a pleasant, antihistamine-induced doze, when House, sitting up in the bed, pokes him in the chest. “You really think I’m spoiled?” he asks.
“No,” Wilson mumbles. “I’m sleepy.”
“I don’t think I’m spoiled,” House says uncertainly.
Realizing House is expressing a serious concern, for once, Wilson struggles to wake up enough to address it. “No, you’re not. You’re just….” He rubs at his face with his right hand-the left is still tethered to an IV. “Happy.” The point of putting House through the P.L.O.T. device in the first place was to encourage nerve regeneration-but Wilson considers giving House a taste of a happy childhood to be an important side benefit.
House absorbs that. “Okay.” He flops back down in the small space between Wilson’s body and the bed rail, his back pressed against Wilson’s side.
“Your leg feel okay?” Wilson asks.
“Yeah. The morphine’s good.”
“We need to check the morphine pump tomorrow,” Wilson remembers. “It probably needs refilling.”
“I’ll remind you,” House says. “If I remember.”
Wilson smiles. “Did you have fun at the circus? Until the end?”
“Yeah. My favorite was the--” he yawns “-stuff in jars.”
“Not the elephant?”
“I liked her till she made you sick.”
“Well, it wasn’t her fault,” Wilson points out.
“Maybe,” House says dubiously, like he suspects Elsa might have opted to be allergenic on purpose. “I should have had Chase bring me my lion.”
Wilson hadn’t noticed that House was particularly attached to the lion-he didn’t carry it everywhere, the way Chase had with Puppy-but maybe he needs it to sleep. “We could call him,” he suggests. “He’s probably not home yet.”
“Nah, I’m okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m glad I’m an adequate stuffed-animal substitute,” Wilson says.
“A stuffed animal is an inadequate Wilson-substitute,” House corrects him.
“Well, that’s true. I heard your lion is a terrible cook.”
“My lion isn’t real.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were admitting that.”
“Chase had to pretend Puppy was real because otherwise he didn’t have anybody to love him,” House explains. “Poor little bastard.”
#
House isn’t sure which part of this whole mess was worst-that he has to be quiet and let Wilson rest, or his worry that if he falls asleep, he’ll wind up wetting the bed. He’s sure that if he does, the whole hospital will find out, and he’ll never live it down. Forget his lion, he should have asked Chase to bring him something to read. Or one of his handheld video games. He doesn’t like playing them with the sound off, but in the interests of helping Wilson get better, he could.
After watching Wilson sleep for as long as he can handle it, he starts wondering if he might have, perhaps, left one of his video games in the office. He knows he took his best toys home, but maybe he has an old one-maybe that one the autistic kid gave him-knocking around in one of his desk drawers. If not a game, then maybe one of the books they bought for mini-Chase. He’d almost consider Bible Stories for Wee Folk. Almost.
Once he’s had the idea of going to his office to look for something to entertain himself, he can’t not do it. Wilson wouldn’t like the idea of him wandering off on his own-never mind that he works here, and he walks around by himself all the time. But as long as he’s back before Wilson wakes up again, he won’t worry and he’ll have nothing to complain about.
He’s on two-hour neuro status obs, and the last one was less than an hour ago. There’s no way a simple trip to his office will take anywhere close to an hour-more like ten minutes. Decided, House gets out of bed-quietly, being careful not to disturb Wilson’s rest-and picks up his crutch. His shoes are lying discarded by the bed-he ought to put them on; God knows the floors in this place are filthy. But putting on his shoes seems like it would somehow make this little expedition into going out, and he knows Wilson doesn’t want him going out on his own, while he’s little. He wouldn’t put shoes on to go get something from the other room at home. And this is no different, really.
So he slips out of Wilson’s room. There’s one set of elevators a few yards to the left, but he’d have to go right past the nurses’ station to get to them. Most of the night nurses are not acquainted with him-they won’t know that it’s far, far better to mind their own business where he’s concerned. He decides to go to the right, where there’s another set of elevators a little further away.
He makes it there without incident-although when he passes one room, the old woman inside calls out, disbelievingly, “Tommy?” He ignores her and keeps going.
The elevators come much more quickly in the middle of the night. He steps inside and rides down to his own floor.
Once he’s on the right floor, he has to trek halfway across the hospital to get to his office. He definitely should have given this more thought. Still, he’s come this far….
Hospitals, of course, never really sleep. Some departments, like the ER and Labor and Delivery, can be more active at night than in the day. But most of the other departments quiet down considerably at night, and some-like Optometry and Podiatry-shut down completely. The technicians in radiology, ultrasound, MRI, and the other imaging departments mostly work during the day-which makes the graveyard shift the perfect time to send his people in to use the high-end diagnostic equipment without interference, and without waiting for a spot in the schedule.
Now, the comparative emptiness of the place is useful for another reason-no one is likely to notice an unattended kid wandering around. Patients are either asleep or too concerned with their own problems, nurses and the few doctors working the night shift are either racing from one crisis to another or holed up in the offices and lounges trying to stay awake. The few people he encounters in the hallways pointedly don’t notice him-if they saw him, they’d have to make the time to figure out where he belongs and get him back there, so they don’t see him.
However, when he gets to his office, there’s a different problem. He doesn’t have his keys. Has no idea, in fact, where his keys are-probably either in a locker in Nwebuze’s lab, with the rest of the clothes he’d been wearing the day he was transformed, or at home in Wilson’s silly little key bowl by the door. He rattles the knob, but naturally the place is locked up tight-he really tore into the kids the last time one of them left the place standing open all night.
He moves on and tries Wilson’s door-he figures it’s a little bit more likely that might be unlocked. But it isn’t. He came here without any clear objective, but he feels inexplicably frustrated and defeated--like he had been inches away from having something he really wanted, only to have it whisked away at the last moment.
He stands despondently in front of the doors for a few minutes. It seems like such a waste to have come all this way, only to trek back upstairs empty-handed. He’s about to give up and do just that, though, when he has a brainwave.
The peds oncology playroom isn’t far, and that should be deserted at this hour, too. All the cancer kids will be sound asleep, visions of chemo-vomit dancing in their heads. He can borrow something from there, and have Chase return it-whatever it is-in the morning. Cheerfully, he sets off down the hallway.
As he nears the playroom, it occurs to him that it might be locked as well-but luck is with him, for a change, and it isn’t. He leaves the overhead lights off-no need to attract undue attention-but turns on a small floor lamp so he can look at his choices.
They have both a Playstation and a Wii, but he’s likely to be caught if he tries to nick such a substantial item-besides, he’d need a stepladder to connect it up to the TV back in the room. There’s a large selection of DVDs, leaning heavily toward Disney titles. Same problem there. The smaller toys are stacked on shelves and piled in bins. There are way too many dolls, puppets, and soft toys-probably for the kids to engage in dramatic play surrounding their feelings about dying before ever touching the interesting bits of the opposite sex. House ignores them. Legos and matchbox cars, too noisy. Remote controlled cars, tempting-especially when he sees they have monster trucks. He can get Wilson to buy him one of those when he gets out. Finally, he unearths an ancient Game Boy. It’s so old the screen is only in black and white, but it works, and he finds two games for it-Tetris and one of the early Mario games.
Not as good as his own, but good enough. He pockets the games and hides the Game Boy itself inside his waistband-no need to advertise that he’s stealing toys from cancer children. He’s not really stealing, of course, just borrowing, but an outside observer might not see it that way.
He’s about to begin the long process of standing up when, suddenly, the overhead lights come on. “Where are you supposed to be now, honey?” a voice says from behind him.
“Oh, shit,” House breathes. Caught.
On to chapter 18!