The Right Kind of Wrong
Title: The Right Kind of Wrong
Author: ilerya82
Rating: 14A for some mild language.
Fandom Number: 3 - House, MD
Story Number: 2 - Gregory House
Completed: 1
Summary: House comes to terms with his pain, even if the solution could ruin him.
Disclaimer: This tale is purely for fandom entertainment puposes - no money has changed hands to bring it to you, although virtual cookie bribery may have been attempted! ;) House belongs to Fox, not me... I'm just playing with him and his world for a while. I promise to put them all back in the packaging nice and neatly when I'm done! No characters were harmed in the making of this fic.
Author Notes: Spoilers for Season 5 Episode 16 - The Softer Side lie within. This is (mostly) an internal monologue (with a wee bit of transcribed dialogue at the end) for where House's thoughts are throughout the episode on his "drug of choice." This fic is my debut entry in songfic50, inspired by the lyrics of Shinedown's angstful song Save Me.
I apologize if anyone seems OOC - this is my first time writing House, so your feedback is welcomed! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The Right Kind of Wrong
I got a candle
And I've got a spoon
I live in a hallway with no doors
And no rooms
Methadone. It wasn’t like it was heroin, but their reactions would all be the same. It was dangerous. It was a deadly cocktail.
It was helping.
***************************
Under a windowsill
They all were found
A touch of concrete within the doorway
Without a sound
For the first time in years, that lingering ache he felt in his leg was gone. It was amazing how wonderful he felt without the pain, and more so how much his mind seemed to miss it. He’d grown so used to the cane that he was still carrying it. He’d spent so much time massaging the throbbing muscles of his thigh that it had become second nature. The action was so engrained in him, that he did so now even though there was no dull ache present, only the languished musculature left to deteriorate until a slow and painful end. And now it seemed that was not the end nature had in store for him after all.
Lithe fingers caressed ivory as he lowered himself to the piano bench. He didn’t have to be as gentle with his body, but it was force of habit; House couldn’t help it. He’d felt weird ever since the first dose. Something foreign had found its way into his body and ensnared him, taking hold as the precious Methadone began to warp itself to him on a cellular level.
Plunging his heart into Chopin’s Nocturne in C# Minor, House could feel that something seeping into his bones. Closing his eyes, he let the little - and possibly green - alien invader flood his senses. It was a little disconcerting, but not altogether unpleasant, as far as feelings go.
It was warm.
It was comforting.
It ebbed and flowed along with the melody.
This little invader - the idea sort of reminded him of that really bad 90’s movie Osmosis Jones - that had slipped in with the Methadone then caused something else. The reaction was altogether unexpected, but he slipped his head back, eyes still firmly shut and fingers still dancing on ivory, giving in to sensation. The corners of his lips drew upwards, the occurrence almost unnatural.
His little green alien was no invader at all. It was something that lived, albeit unnoticed for a very long time, within him. It was something that he had thought he would never experience again, save for a twinge or two that came with the dim memories from his past. His little invader was happiness.
Dr. Gregory House was happy!
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
Who knew that asking for permission before taking Wilson’s food, aiding to cover up parental lies on Cuddy’s behalf, and giving in to a family and searching for a Blind Uterus would make him the subject of such scrutiny? Ok, well he should have known better, he was the Doctor Gregory House after all! It was completely out of character for him. Unconscionable.
He was slipping.
That little something… That egregious, little, and more than likely green, alien invader called happiness that clouded other people’s judgment - and sapped the good sense of the foolhardy - was beginning to take its toll on him, too. Happiness made people emotionally sloppy, and Gregory House was not sloppy. Fastidious, in some of his more slovenly ways, but he was never sloppy with his emotions.
There was no way that a Blind Uterus fit, and yet he’d ordered the test anyway. He’d ordered the test to make his parents feel better; because there was no way that the obvious answer was the real diagnosis. The obvious answer was never the real problem, only a symptom to mask the underlying issue. Everybody knew that. House knew that. But his brain had let his heart push that little voice aside for that sake of their feelings. Happiness was creeping in to his normally uneventful, sardonic life and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit!
But the Methadone was working. It was keeping the pain at bay, so much so that he had even contemplated leaving his cane behind on the way home tonight. But that would give too much of his secret away. If he were walking without the cane, they would really wonder what was up. Geez, he’d only stopped breathing for a minute… Or two… What should it matter if he was finally free from the pain that had defined his life since the infarction?
The Methadone had saved him from the endless string of Vicodin. The drug had become more of a crutch than the cane, as of late, because it really didn’t do much to curb the pain. When he’d been presented with some research showing that Methadone was much more effective, and it could all but obliterate any inclination towards pain… Well, what could he do? Ignore the first real option since the Ketamine treatments? Or take the dangerous drug and hope to feel better?
Sure, the not breathing thing was bad… but the no pain thing was better. Methadone meant no more pills, no more Vicodin. No more pills…
House shoved the laptop into his bag and flicked the light switch with his cane as he exited his office. It was barely noticeable, but there was a spring to his step all the way to the elevator. No more pills… He touched the down button with the outstretched cane, wondering when he should finally let them all in on his new secret wonder drug and the happiness it was bringing him. He stepped on to the elevator, leaning his back against the interior wall of the car. No matter how wonderful the illicit drug was making him feel, there were so many issues and consequences to consider. Thoughts of his team, his friends, his colleagues filled his mind.
He knew it wouldn’t make them happy, but it should. It would make all their lives so much easier… He’d be happier, so they’d be happier because he would take so much of their stupidity out on them. The circle of life at its finest; they’d give him a little and he’d take even more, smiling all the while.
Dammit, it was clouding his judgment! He was actually considering being nice. To them!
The bell signaled his arrival on the ground floor and he pushed himself from his resting place in the elevator with a shake of his head. House pushed himself along, using his cane less than the actual muscles in his legs. The pain had receded. In fact, it was all but gone.
The Methadone really was a perfect solution, but with one tiny flaw…
He had been polite today, for crying out loud! Polite! Doctor Gregory House!
***************************
How did I get here
And what went wrong
Couldn't handle forgiveness
Now I'm far beyond gone
Kutner’s incessant bouncing of the tennis ball was driving him crazy, and it was naptime God dammit!
Thump! Thump!
Opening one eye to peer at the ungrateful wretch, House cleared his throat. The sound was almost guttural, and certainly menacing. Kutner flinched, ever so slightly, at the sound. The ball came to rest in his lap and he began something that his boss would have found equally annoying.
That is if House had decided to keep his eyes open to watch.
The lure of sleep was like a siren’s call that promised to clear the fog in his brain. He needed to clear his head so he could think, see this case from every possible angle. Know that he had not missed anything… at all… whatsoever! There was a little boy - or was it a little girl in disguise? It was confusing - who needed him to do what he did best. Save lives. Or at least make sense of why this was happening to him? Or her? Or whatever his patient was!
They’d placed a pseudo-guard with him at all times. Cuddy’s decision. She thought he needed babysitting, both to House’s delight and chagrin. As embarrassing as it was, it gave him another excellent opportunity to annoy his team! Brilliant!
He could hear them grumbling now, more than just Kutner in the office, he thought he could hear Thirteen arguing with him now. Oh, and there were more voices. Damn. Naptime was over. It was feeding time at the ego zoo.
***************************
I can hardly remember
The look of my own eyes
How can I love this a life so dishonest
It made me compromise
There was a taste of distrust in this offer; distrust disguised with an excellent shot of premium bourbon. House looked down at the shot and then upward to his friend. It was in that moment he knew they had interpreted his good mood of late to something much more insidious than the truth. Scratch that, the truth was insidious - in fact it was plain deadly when you got right down to the nitty gritty - but it was a necessary evil. That Wilson was questioning his judgment was not.
Raising an eyebrow, House pondered the consequences of his actions here. If he drank the bourbon it would prove to Wilson that he wasn’t on heroin… How his friend could possibly believe he would be that stupid was beyond all belief! But the effects would be amplified, try drunk and stupid to a maximum degree. He couldn’t drink the bourbon.
Looking at Wilson, his fingers clamped around the shot glass, House suddenly knew what he had to do. He had to drink it. After sputtering his anger at such a show of distrust, he threw back the shot of bourbon with showman-like dramatic flair.
He hadn’t tasted alcohol in days, not since he’d begun the treatment schedule. The familiar slow burn of the bourbon on his larynx was like a warm, welcoming blanket. It felt like security and comfort, yet all the while disguised as his bane, his curse. He knew he had to get out, get it out of his system. Fast.
Slamming the emptied glass onto the table, House took himself and his cane out of the restaurant while his dearest friend attempted to pick his jaw up off the floor.
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
There had been no better way. The second he’d emptied the contents of his stomach into the dumpster, he’d felt calmer. That is, until Wilson had shown up.
This wasn’t the moment for his ‘Save-House’ parade, however tempting it was to take the outstretched olive branch. The way he’d been feeling, or rather what he hadn’t been feeling, would vanish if he stopped taking the Methadone. And then the pills would come back into play. He’d rather be addicted to something that was actually relieving his pain than an opioid that barely managed to keep a headache at bay. The Methadone was working. Why take that from him when being pain-free was the only dream he’d had in the last few years?
When he couldn’t stomach anymore, bile rising as he became more infuriated with Wilson’s weak arguments, he tossed his cane into the dumpster. That was the last straw. He couldn’t take it anymore.
His little green alien popped up along with his anger, demanding to know why they didn’t want him to be happy. Why didn’t they want him to be happy? All he could hear was Wilson’s voice shouting his name after him as he sauntered down the street, sans cane, for the first time in years. All he knew was that it felt good, and he wanted that good feeling to stay.
***************************
Jump in the water
Jump in with me
Jump on the altar
Lay down with me
Retreating to his temple of solitude, House felt safe to relax. The Men’s Room was normally safe from anyone, come to think of it. The smell was noxious - not even the Men-folk dared tread in there; which made it a perfect spot to catch up on some light reading.
As he was settling in to the latest basketball scores, the outer door opened and he could here the even clicking of heels across the sandstone tiles. He knew that sound. Actually, he sometimes dreamt of that sound… It was a fetish thing.
But the vibe she sent out wasn’t one that he relished. It was wrought with worry. It was sad. It was afraid. Dr. Lisa Cuddy stood before him, more in the capacity of a friend than a boss at this moment, and that had made the gravity of his reaction make him feel like an even bigger ass than usual.
Damn her and the imaginary pigtails he so felt like tugging on!
***************************
The hardest question to answer
Is why
She’d wanted to know what had possessed him to try Methadone. It was a simple answer, wasn’t it? Continuing to live with an unending agony or feeling like a normal human being, at least one without chronic pain? Though there was nothing really normal about the Doctor Gregory House, he wanted to at least give his pain receptors a break. They’d been working overtime for what seemed like an eternity!
She forbade him from using the one thing that was bringing him any joy. Well, to be honest, she’d given him an ultimatum, albeit a weak one. Quit the Methadone or quit the hospital. The choice had been remarkably easier than he had thought. He’d chosen his dream, the sweet pain-free life that the Methadone could provide. Maybe he’d chosen his death ultimately, gambling with his life just to experience a spec of normalcy in this miserable existence.
***************************
Why?
He couldn’t fathom what had changed her mind. Was this some grand gesture? It did feel rather grand, but he still couldn’t imagine what he could’ve said nor done that day to change her mind. He knew that as a diagnostician, he was indispensable to the livelihood of this hospital but no matter how much a hefty surplus in the budget would make her bosses happy, yet Cuddy had given him the ultimatum. And then retracted it, asking only to regulate the course of treatment. Why?
Why did his job matter? Why was this moment in his life so significant? Why?
It shocked him that she went against her own better judgment and wanted to regulate his treatment. It awed him that she spoke not as the Dean of Medicine, but as his friend when she’d proposed this plan. He could see her concern. He knew she wanted him around, even if only in a working capacity, alive.
And he would take that… If only for the moment.
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
Energy drinks! Why hadn’t he seen it before? The answer was staring him in the face the whole time and he’d missed it. The Methadone had given him happiness that had done what it ultimately did to all people - it clouded their judgment. His judgment. It was unacceptable. It was over.
He’d let his happiness cloud his judgment. He’d ordered that MRI based on emotion, something that he would never have done without the Methadone, the warm fuzzy feeling inside. He’d gambled with everything he had, rolling the plastic dice between his fingers House pondered how he could have been so foolish - so common.
The door to his office pushed open. Oh, yippy! The Methadone fairy had arrived! Dr. Cuddy swaggered over to the side of his desk, plastic med cup of transparent green liquid in hand.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll come to my office for your fix.” Her words were playful, but he didn’t feel like playing right now.
“I’m done with the Methadone,” his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. Weak. He drew a ragged breath and continued. “I screwed up.”
“The kid’s parents wanted that MRI.” Cuddy said in utter disbelief.
“I knew he didn’t need it, but I did it anyway.” His tone was self-deprecating. “That’s what got him sick.”
“You just solved a case that no one else could solve.”
“I created a case. I played nice because I was in a good mood…because I didn’t hurt.” He rose from his desk, unable to sit with everything that was swimming through his mind.
Someone save me
“You don’t need your pain to be a good doctor!”
“I’m not interested in good!” No, he was Dr. Gregory House. He could only be the best.
“You’re afraid to be happy!” Her tone was accusatory.
“Why do you care if I’m happy?”
For the second time in so many days she’d left him flabbergasted. He wasn’t used to this, to being unsure, to being emotional. He wasn’t used to it and he didn’t want to be. His eyes sought hers, to see what it was that she was thinking. The silence that followed his retort threatened asphyxiation.
Someone save me
“You’re afraid of change. The one thing you have is your intellect. You think if that’s compromised, you have nothing,” her eyes were seeking his, but he couldn’t hold them and he had to shift his gaze. He couldn’t reply to her assessment of the situation because he was afraid that she might be right. About all of it.
Somebody save me
“Just take it,” she implored softly.
“No.”
He didn’t know who was hurting more with his reply; Cuddy or himself.
Somebody save me
“Don’t do this.” She was begging. It almost broke his heart.
“It’s already done.” He’d made up his mind now. There was no turning back.
House snatched the dose from Cuddy’s fingers and tossed it into the waste bin before taking up his trusty cane, his ever present crutch. Steeling himself, he prepared to walk away from the answer to the hollow prayers he’d been saying since the infarction. Welcome back pain.
Please don't erase me
“This is the only me you get.”
.fin.
Author: ilerya82
Rating: 14A for some mild language.
Fandom Number: 3 - House, MD
Story Number: 2 - Gregory House
Completed: 1
Summary: House comes to terms with his pain, even if the solution could ruin him.
Disclaimer: This tale is purely for fandom entertainment puposes - no money has changed hands to bring it to you, although virtual cookie bribery may have been attempted! ;) House belongs to Fox, not me... I'm just playing with him and his world for a while. I promise to put them all back in the packaging nice and neatly when I'm done! No characters were harmed in the making of this fic.
Author Notes: Spoilers for Season 5 Episode 16 - The Softer Side lie within. This is (mostly) an internal monologue (with a wee bit of transcribed dialogue at the end) for where House's thoughts are throughout the episode on his "drug of choice." This fic is my debut entry in songfic50, inspired by the lyrics of Shinedown's angstful song Save Me.
I apologize if anyone seems OOC - this is my first time writing House, so your feedback is welcomed! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The Right Kind of Wrong
I got a candle
And I've got a spoon
I live in a hallway with no doors
And no rooms
Methadone. It wasn’t like it was heroin, but their reactions would all be the same. It was dangerous. It was a deadly cocktail.
It was helping.
***************************
Under a windowsill
They all were found
A touch of concrete within the doorway
Without a sound
For the first time in years, that lingering ache he felt in his leg was gone. It was amazing how wonderful he felt without the pain, and more so how much his mind seemed to miss it. He’d grown so used to the cane that he was still carrying it. He’d spent so much time massaging the throbbing muscles of his thigh that it had become second nature. The action was so engrained in him, that he did so now even though there was no dull ache present, only the languished musculature left to deteriorate until a slow and painful end. And now it seemed that was not the end nature had in store for him after all.
Lithe fingers caressed ivory as he lowered himself to the piano bench. He didn’t have to be as gentle with his body, but it was force of habit; House couldn’t help it. He’d felt weird ever since the first dose. Something foreign had found its way into his body and ensnared him, taking hold as the precious Methadone began to warp itself to him on a cellular level.
Plunging his heart into Chopin’s Nocturne in C# Minor, House could feel that something seeping into his bones. Closing his eyes, he let the little - and possibly green - alien invader flood his senses. It was a little disconcerting, but not altogether unpleasant, as far as feelings go.
It was warm.
It was comforting.
It ebbed and flowed along with the melody.
This little invader - the idea sort of reminded him of that really bad 90’s movie Osmosis Jones - that had slipped in with the Methadone then caused something else. The reaction was altogether unexpected, but he slipped his head back, eyes still firmly shut and fingers still dancing on ivory, giving in to sensation. The corners of his lips drew upwards, the occurrence almost unnatural.
His little green alien was no invader at all. It was something that lived, albeit unnoticed for a very long time, within him. It was something that he had thought he would never experience again, save for a twinge or two that came with the dim memories from his past. His little invader was happiness.
Dr. Gregory House was happy!
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
Who knew that asking for permission before taking Wilson’s food, aiding to cover up parental lies on Cuddy’s behalf, and giving in to a family and searching for a Blind Uterus would make him the subject of such scrutiny? Ok, well he should have known better, he was the Doctor Gregory House after all! It was completely out of character for him. Unconscionable.
He was slipping.
That little something… That egregious, little, and more than likely green, alien invader called happiness that clouded other people’s judgment - and sapped the good sense of the foolhardy - was beginning to take its toll on him, too. Happiness made people emotionally sloppy, and Gregory House was not sloppy. Fastidious, in some of his more slovenly ways, but he was never sloppy with his emotions.
There was no way that a Blind Uterus fit, and yet he’d ordered the test anyway. He’d ordered the test to make his parents feel better; because there was no way that the obvious answer was the real diagnosis. The obvious answer was never the real problem, only a symptom to mask the underlying issue. Everybody knew that. House knew that. But his brain had let his heart push that little voice aside for that sake of their feelings. Happiness was creeping in to his normally uneventful, sardonic life and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit!
But the Methadone was working. It was keeping the pain at bay, so much so that he had even contemplated leaving his cane behind on the way home tonight. But that would give too much of his secret away. If he were walking without the cane, they would really wonder what was up. Geez, he’d only stopped breathing for a minute… Or two… What should it matter if he was finally free from the pain that had defined his life since the infarction?
The Methadone had saved him from the endless string of Vicodin. The drug had become more of a crutch than the cane, as of late, because it really didn’t do much to curb the pain. When he’d been presented with some research showing that Methadone was much more effective, and it could all but obliterate any inclination towards pain… Well, what could he do? Ignore the first real option since the Ketamine treatments? Or take the dangerous drug and hope to feel better?
Sure, the not breathing thing was bad… but the no pain thing was better. Methadone meant no more pills, no more Vicodin. No more pills…
House shoved the laptop into his bag and flicked the light switch with his cane as he exited his office. It was barely noticeable, but there was a spring to his step all the way to the elevator. No more pills… He touched the down button with the outstretched cane, wondering when he should finally let them all in on his new secret wonder drug and the happiness it was bringing him. He stepped on to the elevator, leaning his back against the interior wall of the car. No matter how wonderful the illicit drug was making him feel, there were so many issues and consequences to consider. Thoughts of his team, his friends, his colleagues filled his mind.
He knew it wouldn’t make them happy, but it should. It would make all their lives so much easier… He’d be happier, so they’d be happier because he would take so much of their stupidity out on them. The circle of life at its finest; they’d give him a little and he’d take even more, smiling all the while.
Dammit, it was clouding his judgment! He was actually considering being nice. To them!
The bell signaled his arrival on the ground floor and he pushed himself from his resting place in the elevator with a shake of his head. House pushed himself along, using his cane less than the actual muscles in his legs. The pain had receded. In fact, it was all but gone.
The Methadone really was a perfect solution, but with one tiny flaw…
He had been polite today, for crying out loud! Polite! Doctor Gregory House!
***************************
How did I get here
And what went wrong
Couldn't handle forgiveness
Now I'm far beyond gone
Kutner’s incessant bouncing of the tennis ball was driving him crazy, and it was naptime God dammit!
Thump! Thump!
Opening one eye to peer at the ungrateful wretch, House cleared his throat. The sound was almost guttural, and certainly menacing. Kutner flinched, ever so slightly, at the sound. The ball came to rest in his lap and he began something that his boss would have found equally annoying.
That is if House had decided to keep his eyes open to watch.
The lure of sleep was like a siren’s call that promised to clear the fog in his brain. He needed to clear his head so he could think, see this case from every possible angle. Know that he had not missed anything… at all… whatsoever! There was a little boy - or was it a little girl in disguise? It was confusing - who needed him to do what he did best. Save lives. Or at least make sense of why this was happening to him? Or her? Or whatever his patient was!
They’d placed a pseudo-guard with him at all times. Cuddy’s decision. She thought he needed babysitting, both to House’s delight and chagrin. As embarrassing as it was, it gave him another excellent opportunity to annoy his team! Brilliant!
He could hear them grumbling now, more than just Kutner in the office, he thought he could hear Thirteen arguing with him now. Oh, and there were more voices. Damn. Naptime was over. It was feeding time at the ego zoo.
***************************
I can hardly remember
The look of my own eyes
How can I love this a life so dishonest
It made me compromise
There was a taste of distrust in this offer; distrust disguised with an excellent shot of premium bourbon. House looked down at the shot and then upward to his friend. It was in that moment he knew they had interpreted his good mood of late to something much more insidious than the truth. Scratch that, the truth was insidious - in fact it was plain deadly when you got right down to the nitty gritty - but it was a necessary evil. That Wilson was questioning his judgment was not.
Raising an eyebrow, House pondered the consequences of his actions here. If he drank the bourbon it would prove to Wilson that he wasn’t on heroin… How his friend could possibly believe he would be that stupid was beyond all belief! But the effects would be amplified, try drunk and stupid to a maximum degree. He couldn’t drink the bourbon.
Looking at Wilson, his fingers clamped around the shot glass, House suddenly knew what he had to do. He had to drink it. After sputtering his anger at such a show of distrust, he threw back the shot of bourbon with showman-like dramatic flair.
He hadn’t tasted alcohol in days, not since he’d begun the treatment schedule. The familiar slow burn of the bourbon on his larynx was like a warm, welcoming blanket. It felt like security and comfort, yet all the while disguised as his bane, his curse. He knew he had to get out, get it out of his system. Fast.
Slamming the emptied glass onto the table, House took himself and his cane out of the restaurant while his dearest friend attempted to pick his jaw up off the floor.
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
There had been no better way. The second he’d emptied the contents of his stomach into the dumpster, he’d felt calmer. That is, until Wilson had shown up.
This wasn’t the moment for his ‘Save-House’ parade, however tempting it was to take the outstretched olive branch. The way he’d been feeling, or rather what he hadn’t been feeling, would vanish if he stopped taking the Methadone. And then the pills would come back into play. He’d rather be addicted to something that was actually relieving his pain than an opioid that barely managed to keep a headache at bay. The Methadone was working. Why take that from him when being pain-free was the only dream he’d had in the last few years?
When he couldn’t stomach anymore, bile rising as he became more infuriated with Wilson’s weak arguments, he tossed his cane into the dumpster. That was the last straw. He couldn’t take it anymore.
His little green alien popped up along with his anger, demanding to know why they didn’t want him to be happy. Why didn’t they want him to be happy? All he could hear was Wilson’s voice shouting his name after him as he sauntered down the street, sans cane, for the first time in years. All he knew was that it felt good, and he wanted that good feeling to stay.
***************************
Jump in the water
Jump in with me
Jump on the altar
Lay down with me
Retreating to his temple of solitude, House felt safe to relax. The Men’s Room was normally safe from anyone, come to think of it. The smell was noxious - not even the Men-folk dared tread in there; which made it a perfect spot to catch up on some light reading.
As he was settling in to the latest basketball scores, the outer door opened and he could here the even clicking of heels across the sandstone tiles. He knew that sound. Actually, he sometimes dreamt of that sound… It was a fetish thing.
But the vibe she sent out wasn’t one that he relished. It was wrought with worry. It was sad. It was afraid. Dr. Lisa Cuddy stood before him, more in the capacity of a friend than a boss at this moment, and that had made the gravity of his reaction make him feel like an even bigger ass than usual.
Damn her and the imaginary pigtails he so felt like tugging on!
***************************
The hardest question to answer
Is why
She’d wanted to know what had possessed him to try Methadone. It was a simple answer, wasn’t it? Continuing to live with an unending agony or feeling like a normal human being, at least one without chronic pain? Though there was nothing really normal about the Doctor Gregory House, he wanted to at least give his pain receptors a break. They’d been working overtime for what seemed like an eternity!
She forbade him from using the one thing that was bringing him any joy. Well, to be honest, she’d given him an ultimatum, albeit a weak one. Quit the Methadone or quit the hospital. The choice had been remarkably easier than he had thought. He’d chosen his dream, the sweet pain-free life that the Methadone could provide. Maybe he’d chosen his death ultimately, gambling with his life just to experience a spec of normalcy in this miserable existence.
***************************
Why?
He couldn’t fathom what had changed her mind. Was this some grand gesture? It did feel rather grand, but he still couldn’t imagine what he could’ve said nor done that day to change her mind. He knew that as a diagnostician, he was indispensable to the livelihood of this hospital but no matter how much a hefty surplus in the budget would make her bosses happy, yet Cuddy had given him the ultimatum. And then retracted it, asking only to regulate the course of treatment. Why?
Why did his job matter? Why was this moment in his life so significant? Why?
It shocked him that she went against her own better judgment and wanted to regulate his treatment. It awed him that she spoke not as the Dean of Medicine, but as his friend when she’d proposed this plan. He could see her concern. He knew she wanted him around, even if only in a working capacity, alive.
And he would take that… If only for the moment.
***************************
Someone save me if you will
And take away all these pills
And please just save me if you can
From my blasphemy in my wasteland
Energy drinks! Why hadn’t he seen it before? The answer was staring him in the face the whole time and he’d missed it. The Methadone had given him happiness that had done what it ultimately did to all people - it clouded their judgment. His judgment. It was unacceptable. It was over.
He’d let his happiness cloud his judgment. He’d ordered that MRI based on emotion, something that he would never have done without the Methadone, the warm fuzzy feeling inside. He’d gambled with everything he had, rolling the plastic dice between his fingers House pondered how he could have been so foolish - so common.
The door to his office pushed open. Oh, yippy! The Methadone fairy had arrived! Dr. Cuddy swaggered over to the side of his desk, plastic med cup of transparent green liquid in hand.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll come to my office for your fix.” Her words were playful, but he didn’t feel like playing right now.
“I’m done with the Methadone,” his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. Weak. He drew a ragged breath and continued. “I screwed up.”
“The kid’s parents wanted that MRI.” Cuddy said in utter disbelief.
“I knew he didn’t need it, but I did it anyway.” His tone was self-deprecating. “That’s what got him sick.”
“You just solved a case that no one else could solve.”
“I created a case. I played nice because I was in a good mood…because I didn’t hurt.” He rose from his desk, unable to sit with everything that was swimming through his mind.
Someone save me
“You don’t need your pain to be a good doctor!”
“I’m not interested in good!” No, he was Dr. Gregory House. He could only be the best.
“You’re afraid to be happy!” Her tone was accusatory.
“Why do you care if I’m happy?”
For the second time in so many days she’d left him flabbergasted. He wasn’t used to this, to being unsure, to being emotional. He wasn’t used to it and he didn’t want to be. His eyes sought hers, to see what it was that she was thinking. The silence that followed his retort threatened asphyxiation.
Someone save me
“You’re afraid of change. The one thing you have is your intellect. You think if that’s compromised, you have nothing,” her eyes were seeking his, but he couldn’t hold them and he had to shift his gaze. He couldn’t reply to her assessment of the situation because he was afraid that she might be right. About all of it.
Somebody save me
“Just take it,” she implored softly.
“No.”
He didn’t know who was hurting more with his reply; Cuddy or himself.
Somebody save me
“Don’t do this.” She was begging. It almost broke his heart.
“It’s already done.” He’d made up his mind now. There was no turning back.
House snatched the dose from Cuddy’s fingers and tossed it into the waste bin before taking up his trusty cane, his ever present crutch. Steeling himself, he prepared to walk away from the answer to the hollow prayers he’d been saying since the infarction. Welcome back pain.
Please don't erase me
“This is the only me you get.”
.fin.