[In Progress, Closed]

[sh_hereisgone]

WHO: Daisya Barry (sh_hereisgone ) and Greg House (causticguy )
WHAT: Daisya's a little worried about House, who's randomly slamming his hand in doors, and is bringing him a distraction.
WHERE: House's place
WHEN: Sometime in the night (late)

Comments

[causticguy]

It took House a minute to answer the door-he'd been in the kitchen when the knock sounded looking at the powdered poppy pods that he'd ground up over the past day. It would be so easy-just some hot water and a strainer, and it would be…very nearly opium. Only a little weaker than outright smoking it. And it would feel so good. So good. And all the pain would be gone.

House was an addict. He knew he was an addict. He didn't even have any particular problem with being an addict. But he wasn't stupid, and he was only selectively irresponsible. He was addicted to pain pills; he wasn't addicted to opium, and he preferred to keep it that way. He didn't throw down things that would fog his brain. That was the cardinal rule. But right now…he didn't have a lot of options, and the pain was bad. So bad that even slamming his hand (he had to be careful not to break any bones) only helped take the edge off for a few minutes at a time.

When he opened the door, leaning heavily between it and his cane in the other hand, he was soaked in a cold sweat and shaking a little more than he wanted to admit he was. The latter had as much to do with the detox as it did to do with the pain. A part of him hadn't even really expected Daisya to come-the last few minutes of writing in the journal had been a haze in his mind, and he wasn't sure if he might have only imagined that he'd told someone where he was.

But here he was, the short man in the black coat whose picture House recognized even through the patina of his pain. House stared down at him, mutely, as though he might have thought he was staring at a hallucination.