PATIENT - Chapter 10: Under Arrest
Title: Patient
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to write this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Disclaimers: You know the drill. Don’t own `em, never did, never will. Wish I did.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
This Chapter: For the first few minutes, he fought it-fought it hard-tried desperately to stay focused on logic and rationality-no one could let this happen, not again-but it didn’t take long for logic to flee and for him to be sucked down into his own buried terrors.
Chapter 9
Chapter 8
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
______________________________________________________
Chapter 10: Under Arrest
Wilson was having a trying day. Despite his best efforts to get House to take a day off, his shattered friend had insisted on returning to work. And now, one of his favorite patients, a young teacher named Arlene Planck, had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. He’d been summoned to her room at 10:30, and had stayed with her through the lunch hour. She had no family to speak of, and so Wilson sat by her side, holding her hand.
A little after noon, his pager went off, but Wilson never heard it. That morning, when he’d donned his crisp white lab coat, Wilson had carefully hung his suit jacket up on the hook on the back of his office door, inadvertently leaving his pager in the left-hand pocket. Once he’d rushed to Arlene’s room, he hadn’t returned to his office, and so the pager buzzed around aimlessly.
Forty-five minutes after he’d been paged, the door to Arlene Planck’s room whooshed open and nurse Brenda Previn entered, breathless. Her quick nurse’s eyes surveyed the scene before she quietly approached Wilson, lightly touching his shoulder and beckoning him outside.
“Excuse me a moment, Arlene,” said Wilson, gently. “I’ll be right back.”
His patient looked up at him from eyes sunk deep in a gaunt face. As she struggled to breathe, she watched wanly as he followed the thin, dark-haired nurse out the door, and saw him stand listening, his face reflecting a growing horror as he heard whatever it was the nurse had to tell him. A moment later, the door reopened and he returned to her side. She could tell he was desperately upset.
“Arlene,” he began, his voice shaky, “another emergency has come up, and I’m going to have to go. Are you all right here by yourself?”
She nodded. Before he left the room, Dr. Wilson, clasped her hand warmly and looked deep into her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Those were the last words Arlene Planck ever heard.
* * * *
By the time Wilson got to Cuddy’s office, she had already conferred with General Counsel Steve Masala and learned that House was being held at the Princeton Police Station, accused of assault. That the charges had been brought by Michael Tritter surprised no one.
As she and Wilson dashed off to the police station, Devi and Chase remained behind. As angry as he’d been with Foreman the night before, that was nothing compared with how Chase felt toward Tritter now. He was beyond infuriated, begging Cuddy to let him come along to the police station. Quite rightly, she’d turned him down, afraid that his rage would create more problems than not.
“I want to strangle him!” he fumed to Devi after the other two had left. She had never seen him like this. His face was red and his voice trembled as he spoke. “The man is evil-I can’t believe after everything that’s happened to House something like this could happen. I kept telling you he was dangerous!”
Devi passively accepted his anger, sitting quietly at the conference room table until he wound himself down. She pictured House, petrified and alone, locked up in jail, awaiting whatever was going to happen to him, reliving his own personal hell and terrified that he’d never be free again. Her stomach churned at the realization that a combination of her own naiveté and House’s insistence that Tritter be treated like any other patient had caused this situation to fester and escalate.
“I wanted to believe the best,” she said at last. “I wanted to think that he was just a patient like any other… that you and Foreman were exaggerating. I thought if we just treated him as well as we could, he’d be okay with it. I-I… I-I just don’t know what to say. You were right.”
Spent, Chase came over and stood behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“I know you wanted to believe the best,” he said, his voice softening. “You gave him the benefit of the doubt… and normally, that would be a good thing. But not with him. Not with Tritter.”
* * * *
After being forced into the back of a police car, the handcuffs cutting sharply into the layered scars on his wrists-just like the shackles that had nearly ripped his arms out of their sockets in prison-House began to hyperventilate, his panic slowly overtaking him. For the first few minutes, he fought it-fought it hard-tried desperately to stay focused on logic and rationality-no one could let this happen, not again-but it didn’t take long for logic to flee and for him to be sucked down into his own buried terrors.
Sitting in the back seat next to the prisoner, Officer Hershey felt a pang of guilt. After everything this man had been through, why would he dare risk arrest for any reason? According to the newspaper reports, he’d gotten a big enough settlement that he never needed to work again. Why would he ever endanger his freedom by doing anything that might lead to this? It didn’t make sense. He leaned over and whispered to the trembling man.
“You okay, man?”
House jerked away from him. Stupid question. He clearly wasn’t okay.
“N-no…” he whimpered. “Please… n-no…”
To the officer’s untrained eye, House seemed to be in some kind of physical pain. Not surprising, Hershey thought, given the observable injuries the doctor had suffered. Did House have any pain medication with him, he wondered. Didn’t matter if he did. As soon as he was booked, they’d confiscate it anyway. Then there was the fear. He’d never seen a prisoner react like this. He’d seen anger, violence and sheer nerves, but never anything like the abject terror of the man seated next to him, crouching against the door.
Hershey was a ten-year man, and he’d heard plenty of unsettling stories about Michael Tritter over the years. Something was fishy here, but he had no choice but to follow orders and report in to the chief. He couldn’t ignore a direct order, but something about this wasn’t right.
“Shut up back there!” yelled Officer Wayne from the driver’s seat, jerking his head back around. “Just shut the fuck up, old man!”
“Yeah, shut up!” screeched his parrot of a partner, Officer Barnes.
Suddenly, the car grew unnaturally silent, the trembling prisoner making no noise at all, his face distorted as he held in the cries he wanted to let loose.
“Shut the fuck up, old man! You’re just getting what’s coming to you.” House felt, more than heard, the footsteps of the guard approaching him. Although it was a regular occurrence, he never got used to it-the fear in the pit of his stomach about what would happen next, the excruciating pain as some part of his body was twisted, sliced or invaded yet again, the humiliation of being treated as less than human. Eventually, he hoped, maybe he could detach himself from what was being done to him, but now… now it was a constant shock. Never a moment to recover, never a moment without fear. He was no longer Dr. Gregory House; he was simply someone else’s punching bag and bitch.
Hershey saw House curl in on himself, trying to slide off the seat and onto the floor. Instinctively, he reached over to comfort the man, but his touch made things worse. House jerked away from him and began to whimper again.
“N-no!” House mewled. “N-no. Not again. N-Not again.”
“Shut that fucker up, or I’m going to stop and make him shut up!” screamed Wayne, gripping the steering wheel, causing the police car to take a sickening swerve to the right.
This was too much for Hershey. “Leave him alone, you asshole!” he yelled back. “Do you have any idea what this man has been through? If you’d experienced what he has, you’d have given up the first day-and you never would’ve survived. So if anyone ought to shut the fuck up, it’s you!”
When, as if from a distance, he heard Hershey defending him, House stopped crying. Perhaps… perhaps someone would help him. Perhaps there was hope. But then his mind slipped far away, to a different place-a cold, uncharitable place-a place where there was no hope.
* * * *
By the time Wilson and Cuddy got to the police station, they had left their initial shock behind and moved on to cold fury. Striding forcefully up to the desk, Cuddy reigned herself in to keep from spewing anger at the desk sergeant, a gigantic, hairy, red-haired man engrossed in a copy of Sports Illustrated. This horrible situation wasn’t his fault, and venting her frustrations on him wasn’t likely to help them get to House.
The desk was high, which made the desk sergeant look that much more imposing. “Hello,” Cuddy began, her voice trembling with repressed rage. “My name is Lisa Cuddy. I’m the Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.”
The bored sergeant barely glanced up at her.
“Yeah. So?”
She gripped Wilson’s arm tightly, her nails digging into the fabric of his suit jacket. He felt her hand twitching. Sensing that Cuddy might be in danger of losing control, and getting the impression that the sergeant was not likely to respond well to a strong female, Wilson put his hand on her shoulder. Pushing her back slightly, he stepped forward. This was the time to be an Alpha male chauvinist.
“Hey!” said Wilson, a little louder than he would normally speak. “You’ve got a buddy of ours here. We want to pay his bail and get him out.”
This time the sergeant paid slightly more attention. Not much more, but slightly more.
“Yeah. So what’s the guy’s name?”
“Gregory House.”
At this, the sergeant perked up, putting his magazine down to scrutinize the two professional people before him. Normally, he liked wielding his power over people like these two, but he’d seen House brought in, and he didn’t like how this was going down.
“Him? Uh, sorry, man, but he hasn’t been to court yet. Gotta see a judge before bail can get set.” Then, surprisingly, he leaned way over the desk and spoke very quietly, as if to share a secret. “You want my opinion? Your friend there shouldn’t-a been brought in here in the first place. If anything, this oughta be a civil matter. And probably not even that. Tritter’s really a piece-a work.”
Wilson glanced over at Cuddy, who gave him a little smile. Hmmm. Dissent within the police force. This could work for them.
“So… when will that be? You see, our friend is… ill. He needs his medications and we’d really like to get him out of here as soon as possible.”
Checking quickly over his shoulder to make sure no one else was in the vicinity, the sergeant thought a moment before answering. “Yeah, I’ll say he’s ill. Couldn’t believe it when he came in. Guy was shaking and shivering all over the place. What made those idiots think they had to send three uniformed cops to arrest a guy like that? You know what? I read about him, in the newspaper an’ saw it on TV an’ all. Guy’s a hero. Last thing he needs is a bunch-a cops dragging him into jail. I’d-a shit my pants if it’d been me. I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, but whatthehell does Tritter think he’s doin’, sendin’ cops to arrest a guy like that? Poor fella-he was scared to death.”
For Wilson, hearing how badly House was reacting just made the situation even more urgent. Cuddy still had his arm in a death grip that was beginning to cut off circulation to his fingers. Swallowing his own anxiety, Wilson leaned over the desk to meet the sergeant halfway. “Look, Sergeant…” He quickly scanned the man’s nametag. “…Sergeant Duffy. Can we see him? We’re really worried about him. Is there anything we can do to hurry this up?”
Their new friend grabbed a stack of papers on his desk and began rifling through them.
“He’s due up in a coupla hours. You’re lucky. It’s Judge Minton. She’s none too fond-a Tritter in the first place, and when she sees this… well…” He let the sentence dangle a moment. “Well… she’s gonna blow a gasket.”
Wilson smiled anxiously. “I guess that’s good, right? So, can we see him first-let him know it’s going to be all right?”
Duffy nodded. “Don’t see why not? He ain’t a danger or a threat to no one. And a guy like that oughta have his friends with him.”
For the first time, Duffy really looked closely at Wilson and Cuddy. “Hey, are you two some o’ the folks he saved? You know, on that list or contract thing?”
Cuddy, who had finally gotten herself under control, nodded. Wilson gazed down demurely. “Yes, Sergeant Duffy. We were both on the list.”
“So you really owe this guy, huh?”
“Yes. More than you can imagine. And we don’t want to see anything more happen to him.”
Duffy, who had already done a 180 since they arrived, now seemed eager to help them out.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, okay? This ain’t right.”
“Thank you so much,” said Cuddy, smiling weakly. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m gonna hafta wait till I can get someone out here ta watch the desk, but then I’ll escort you folks back myself… personal.”
It took another few minutes for Duffy to get a replacement, but as soon as he did, things moved along rapidly. Within a couple of minutes, Wilson and Cuddy were escorted down a long, gray hall to an iron door. Once it clanked behind them, they found themselves outside a large, gray, cold, hard jail cell, bereft of embellishments except for a stainless steel toilet in one corner and a drain in the middle of the floor. In the corner opposite the toilet was House’s wheelchair, faced into the wall.
Near it, on the floor, partially obscured by the chair, was House himself, curled into the familiar ball. He was shaking so hard they could see it from all the way across the holding cell.
“Oh, God,” whispered Wilson, bile rising in his throat. He looked at Cuddy, who was so pale, he was afraid she might faint. Her face was distorted with anxiety.
“House, we’re here,” whispered Cuddy, tentatively moving forward so that she gripped the bars of the cell. She held on so tightly Wilson wouldn’t have been surprised to see the bars bend under the strain. “It’s okay. We’re working to get you out of here.”
There was no response from House, as if he hadn’t heard them.
Wilson didn’t know what to think. All he knew was that he needed to get into that cell and examine House as soon as possible. He turned back toward the policeman.
“Sergeant Duffy, would it be all right if we went in and stayed with him? He needs his meds… and we really don’t want him to be alone right now.”
Again, Duffy looked around to see if any other officers were nearby to overhear him.
“We’re both doctors,” said Wilson, trying to cajole the sergeant into unlocking the door. “He needs medical help.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” said Duffy, unlocking the cell door. “He don’t look so good. I’ll take responsibility-don’t see why the guy shouldn’t have whatever he needs. And once Minton hears about this, well, I’d love to be in that courtroom listening. I’ll be back when it’s time to go into court. In the meantime…” He gestured uncertainly in House’s direction. “…do what you can to help your friend.”
The door creaked open so that Wilson and Cuddy could slip through into the cell. They felt the vibrations as the heavy door clanged shut behind them. It was a sickening sound. All Wilson could think of was how House must have felt hearing that noise again after all this time. Sidling up to the corner of the cell, staying as quiet as he could, he approached his friend. When he saw House, who seemed to have regressed back to his post-prison semi-catatonic condition, he felt queasy.
“House… House, it’s Wilson. We’re here.”
As far as he could tell, House hadn’t even heard him.
Slowly, gently, Wilson knelt down on the cold cement floor next to his friend. He reached out a tentative hand toward the shaking frame but stopped short of actually touching House. He heard Cuddy kneel down behind him. He tried to keep his voice light and his tone optimistic.
“Hey, big guy… it’s okay. We’re here now. No one is going to hurt you. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
The shaking seemed to diminish, but it was hard to tell.
“House… Greg… It’s Wilson. Cuddy’s here with me. We’ve got a lawyer working to get you out. This…” Wilson’s words caught in his throat. “…This won’t be like last time. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.” His voice cracked. He swallowed before trying again. “I promise you. No one’s going to hurt you again.”
Now shaking himself, he reached over gingerly, and gently laid a trembling hand on House’s shoulder, expecting his friend to shy away. But he sensed no reaction whatsoever. Wilson’s felt his insides grow cold. Moving his hand across House’s shoulder, he began to tenderly rub soothing circles on House’s back. Still no response.
“Come on, House. Turn around and look at us. We’re here to help you… to get you out of here.”
Nothing.
The truth was that House didn’t hear them, and he never felt Wilson’s feathery touch. Somewhere during the ride to the police station, he had retreated so far inside himself that nothing could penetrate. It was a protective measure his mind had developed during his time in prison. Once he’d figured out how to block out the taunts and to distance himself from feeling the blows, he had been able to totally dissociate from his surroundings. And now, despite two years of progressive recovery, the stress of being arrested and returned to an environment so similar to the one he had left made it far too easy to slip back inside, to shield himself from what was happening around him.
For Wilson, it was all frighteningly familiar. The way House held himself, wrapped up tight, and the fact that he wasn’t responding, was too similar to the semi-catatonic House he’d hoped never to see again. In a mere couple of hours, House had reverted to the state he’d existed in for nearly a year following his release from prison. Wilson held his breath, terrified to think of facing that trauma again.
Dismay apparent on his face, he looked over at Cuddy. She saw his face grow white as tears welled up in his eyes.
“I…I can’t reach him,” he whispered.
TBC…
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to write this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Disclaimers: You know the drill. Don’t own `em, never did, never will. Wish I did.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
This Chapter: For the first few minutes, he fought it-fought it hard-tried desperately to stay focused on logic and rationality-no one could let this happen, not again-but it didn’t take long for logic to flee and for him to be sucked down into his own buried terrors.
Chapter 9
Chapter 8
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
______________________________________________________
Chapter 10: Under Arrest
Wilson was having a trying day. Despite his best efforts to get House to take a day off, his shattered friend had insisted on returning to work. And now, one of his favorite patients, a young teacher named Arlene Planck, had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. He’d been summoned to her room at 10:30, and had stayed with her through the lunch hour. She had no family to speak of, and so Wilson sat by her side, holding her hand.
A little after noon, his pager went off, but Wilson never heard it. That morning, when he’d donned his crisp white lab coat, Wilson had carefully hung his suit jacket up on the hook on the back of his office door, inadvertently leaving his pager in the left-hand pocket. Once he’d rushed to Arlene’s room, he hadn’t returned to his office, and so the pager buzzed around aimlessly.
Forty-five minutes after he’d been paged, the door to Arlene Planck’s room whooshed open and nurse Brenda Previn entered, breathless. Her quick nurse’s eyes surveyed the scene before she quietly approached Wilson, lightly touching his shoulder and beckoning him outside.
“Excuse me a moment, Arlene,” said Wilson, gently. “I’ll be right back.”
His patient looked up at him from eyes sunk deep in a gaunt face. As she struggled to breathe, she watched wanly as he followed the thin, dark-haired nurse out the door, and saw him stand listening, his face reflecting a growing horror as he heard whatever it was the nurse had to tell him. A moment later, the door reopened and he returned to her side. She could tell he was desperately upset.
“Arlene,” he began, his voice shaky, “another emergency has come up, and I’m going to have to go. Are you all right here by yourself?”
She nodded. Before he left the room, Dr. Wilson, clasped her hand warmly and looked deep into her eyes.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Those were the last words Arlene Planck ever heard.
* * * *
By the time Wilson got to Cuddy’s office, she had already conferred with General Counsel Steve Masala and learned that House was being held at the Princeton Police Station, accused of assault. That the charges had been brought by Michael Tritter surprised no one.
As she and Wilson dashed off to the police station, Devi and Chase remained behind. As angry as he’d been with Foreman the night before, that was nothing compared with how Chase felt toward Tritter now. He was beyond infuriated, begging Cuddy to let him come along to the police station. Quite rightly, she’d turned him down, afraid that his rage would create more problems than not.
“I want to strangle him!” he fumed to Devi after the other two had left. She had never seen him like this. His face was red and his voice trembled as he spoke. “The man is evil-I can’t believe after everything that’s happened to House something like this could happen. I kept telling you he was dangerous!”
Devi passively accepted his anger, sitting quietly at the conference room table until he wound himself down. She pictured House, petrified and alone, locked up in jail, awaiting whatever was going to happen to him, reliving his own personal hell and terrified that he’d never be free again. Her stomach churned at the realization that a combination of her own naiveté and House’s insistence that Tritter be treated like any other patient had caused this situation to fester and escalate.
“I wanted to believe the best,” she said at last. “I wanted to think that he was just a patient like any other… that you and Foreman were exaggerating. I thought if we just treated him as well as we could, he’d be okay with it. I-I… I-I just don’t know what to say. You were right.”
Spent, Chase came over and stood behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“I know you wanted to believe the best,” he said, his voice softening. “You gave him the benefit of the doubt… and normally, that would be a good thing. But not with him. Not with Tritter.”
* * * *
After being forced into the back of a police car, the handcuffs cutting sharply into the layered scars on his wrists-just like the shackles that had nearly ripped his arms out of their sockets in prison-House began to hyperventilate, his panic slowly overtaking him. For the first few minutes, he fought it-fought it hard-tried desperately to stay focused on logic and rationality-no one could let this happen, not again-but it didn’t take long for logic to flee and for him to be sucked down into his own buried terrors.
Sitting in the back seat next to the prisoner, Officer Hershey felt a pang of guilt. After everything this man had been through, why would he dare risk arrest for any reason? According to the newspaper reports, he’d gotten a big enough settlement that he never needed to work again. Why would he ever endanger his freedom by doing anything that might lead to this? It didn’t make sense. He leaned over and whispered to the trembling man.
“You okay, man?”
House jerked away from him. Stupid question. He clearly wasn’t okay.
“N-no…” he whimpered. “Please… n-no…”
To the officer’s untrained eye, House seemed to be in some kind of physical pain. Not surprising, Hershey thought, given the observable injuries the doctor had suffered. Did House have any pain medication with him, he wondered. Didn’t matter if he did. As soon as he was booked, they’d confiscate it anyway. Then there was the fear. He’d never seen a prisoner react like this. He’d seen anger, violence and sheer nerves, but never anything like the abject terror of the man seated next to him, crouching against the door.
Hershey was a ten-year man, and he’d heard plenty of unsettling stories about Michael Tritter over the years. Something was fishy here, but he had no choice but to follow orders and report in to the chief. He couldn’t ignore a direct order, but something about this wasn’t right.
“Shut up back there!” yelled Officer Wayne from the driver’s seat, jerking his head back around. “Just shut the fuck up, old man!”
“Yeah, shut up!” screeched his parrot of a partner, Officer Barnes.
Suddenly, the car grew unnaturally silent, the trembling prisoner making no noise at all, his face distorted as he held in the cries he wanted to let loose.
“Shut the fuck up, old man! You’re just getting what’s coming to you.” House felt, more than heard, the footsteps of the guard approaching him. Although it was a regular occurrence, he never got used to it-the fear in the pit of his stomach about what would happen next, the excruciating pain as some part of his body was twisted, sliced or invaded yet again, the humiliation of being treated as less than human. Eventually, he hoped, maybe he could detach himself from what was being done to him, but now… now it was a constant shock. Never a moment to recover, never a moment without fear. He was no longer Dr. Gregory House; he was simply someone else’s punching bag and bitch.
Hershey saw House curl in on himself, trying to slide off the seat and onto the floor. Instinctively, he reached over to comfort the man, but his touch made things worse. House jerked away from him and began to whimper again.
“N-no!” House mewled. “N-no. Not again. N-Not again.”
“Shut that fucker up, or I’m going to stop and make him shut up!” screamed Wayne, gripping the steering wheel, causing the police car to take a sickening swerve to the right.
This was too much for Hershey. “Leave him alone, you asshole!” he yelled back. “Do you have any idea what this man has been through? If you’d experienced what he has, you’d have given up the first day-and you never would’ve survived. So if anyone ought to shut the fuck up, it’s you!”
When, as if from a distance, he heard Hershey defending him, House stopped crying. Perhaps… perhaps someone would help him. Perhaps there was hope. But then his mind slipped far away, to a different place-a cold, uncharitable place-a place where there was no hope.
* * * *
By the time Wilson and Cuddy got to the police station, they had left their initial shock behind and moved on to cold fury. Striding forcefully up to the desk, Cuddy reigned herself in to keep from spewing anger at the desk sergeant, a gigantic, hairy, red-haired man engrossed in a copy of Sports Illustrated. This horrible situation wasn’t his fault, and venting her frustrations on him wasn’t likely to help them get to House.
The desk was high, which made the desk sergeant look that much more imposing. “Hello,” Cuddy began, her voice trembling with repressed rage. “My name is Lisa Cuddy. I’m the Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.”
The bored sergeant barely glanced up at her.
“Yeah. So?”
She gripped Wilson’s arm tightly, her nails digging into the fabric of his suit jacket. He felt her hand twitching. Sensing that Cuddy might be in danger of losing control, and getting the impression that the sergeant was not likely to respond well to a strong female, Wilson put his hand on her shoulder. Pushing her back slightly, he stepped forward. This was the time to be an Alpha male chauvinist.
“Hey!” said Wilson, a little louder than he would normally speak. “You’ve got a buddy of ours here. We want to pay his bail and get him out.”
This time the sergeant paid slightly more attention. Not much more, but slightly more.
“Yeah. So what’s the guy’s name?”
“Gregory House.”
At this, the sergeant perked up, putting his magazine down to scrutinize the two professional people before him. Normally, he liked wielding his power over people like these two, but he’d seen House brought in, and he didn’t like how this was going down.
“Him? Uh, sorry, man, but he hasn’t been to court yet. Gotta see a judge before bail can get set.” Then, surprisingly, he leaned way over the desk and spoke very quietly, as if to share a secret. “You want my opinion? Your friend there shouldn’t-a been brought in here in the first place. If anything, this oughta be a civil matter. And probably not even that. Tritter’s really a piece-a work.”
Wilson glanced over at Cuddy, who gave him a little smile. Hmmm. Dissent within the police force. This could work for them.
“So… when will that be? You see, our friend is… ill. He needs his medications and we’d really like to get him out of here as soon as possible.”
Checking quickly over his shoulder to make sure no one else was in the vicinity, the sergeant thought a moment before answering. “Yeah, I’ll say he’s ill. Couldn’t believe it when he came in. Guy was shaking and shivering all over the place. What made those idiots think they had to send three uniformed cops to arrest a guy like that? You know what? I read about him, in the newspaper an’ saw it on TV an’ all. Guy’s a hero. Last thing he needs is a bunch-a cops dragging him into jail. I’d-a shit my pants if it’d been me. I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, but whatthehell does Tritter think he’s doin’, sendin’ cops to arrest a guy like that? Poor fella-he was scared to death.”
For Wilson, hearing how badly House was reacting just made the situation even more urgent. Cuddy still had his arm in a death grip that was beginning to cut off circulation to his fingers. Swallowing his own anxiety, Wilson leaned over the desk to meet the sergeant halfway. “Look, Sergeant…” He quickly scanned the man’s nametag. “…Sergeant Duffy. Can we see him? We’re really worried about him. Is there anything we can do to hurry this up?”
Their new friend grabbed a stack of papers on his desk and began rifling through them.
“He’s due up in a coupla hours. You’re lucky. It’s Judge Minton. She’s none too fond-a Tritter in the first place, and when she sees this… well…” He let the sentence dangle a moment. “Well… she’s gonna blow a gasket.”
Wilson smiled anxiously. “I guess that’s good, right? So, can we see him first-let him know it’s going to be all right?”
Duffy nodded. “Don’t see why not? He ain’t a danger or a threat to no one. And a guy like that oughta have his friends with him.”
For the first time, Duffy really looked closely at Wilson and Cuddy. “Hey, are you two some o’ the folks he saved? You know, on that list or contract thing?”
Cuddy, who had finally gotten herself under control, nodded. Wilson gazed down demurely. “Yes, Sergeant Duffy. We were both on the list.”
“So you really owe this guy, huh?”
“Yes. More than you can imagine. And we don’t want to see anything more happen to him.”
Duffy, who had already done a 180 since they arrived, now seemed eager to help them out.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, okay? This ain’t right.”
“Thank you so much,” said Cuddy, smiling weakly. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m gonna hafta wait till I can get someone out here ta watch the desk, but then I’ll escort you folks back myself… personal.”
It took another few minutes for Duffy to get a replacement, but as soon as he did, things moved along rapidly. Within a couple of minutes, Wilson and Cuddy were escorted down a long, gray hall to an iron door. Once it clanked behind them, they found themselves outside a large, gray, cold, hard jail cell, bereft of embellishments except for a stainless steel toilet in one corner and a drain in the middle of the floor. In the corner opposite the toilet was House’s wheelchair, faced into the wall.
Near it, on the floor, partially obscured by the chair, was House himself, curled into the familiar ball. He was shaking so hard they could see it from all the way across the holding cell.
“Oh, God,” whispered Wilson, bile rising in his throat. He looked at Cuddy, who was so pale, he was afraid she might faint. Her face was distorted with anxiety.
“House, we’re here,” whispered Cuddy, tentatively moving forward so that she gripped the bars of the cell. She held on so tightly Wilson wouldn’t have been surprised to see the bars bend under the strain. “It’s okay. We’re working to get you out of here.”
There was no response from House, as if he hadn’t heard them.
Wilson didn’t know what to think. All he knew was that he needed to get into that cell and examine House as soon as possible. He turned back toward the policeman.
“Sergeant Duffy, would it be all right if we went in and stayed with him? He needs his meds… and we really don’t want him to be alone right now.”
Again, Duffy looked around to see if any other officers were nearby to overhear him.
“We’re both doctors,” said Wilson, trying to cajole the sergeant into unlocking the door. “He needs medical help.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” said Duffy, unlocking the cell door. “He don’t look so good. I’ll take responsibility-don’t see why the guy shouldn’t have whatever he needs. And once Minton hears about this, well, I’d love to be in that courtroom listening. I’ll be back when it’s time to go into court. In the meantime…” He gestured uncertainly in House’s direction. “…do what you can to help your friend.”
The door creaked open so that Wilson and Cuddy could slip through into the cell. They felt the vibrations as the heavy door clanged shut behind them. It was a sickening sound. All Wilson could think of was how House must have felt hearing that noise again after all this time. Sidling up to the corner of the cell, staying as quiet as he could, he approached his friend. When he saw House, who seemed to have regressed back to his post-prison semi-catatonic condition, he felt queasy.
“House… House, it’s Wilson. We’re here.”
As far as he could tell, House hadn’t even heard him.
Slowly, gently, Wilson knelt down on the cold cement floor next to his friend. He reached out a tentative hand toward the shaking frame but stopped short of actually touching House. He heard Cuddy kneel down behind him. He tried to keep his voice light and his tone optimistic.
“Hey, big guy… it’s okay. We’re here now. No one is going to hurt you. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
The shaking seemed to diminish, but it was hard to tell.
“House… Greg… It’s Wilson. Cuddy’s here with me. We’ve got a lawyer working to get you out. This…” Wilson’s words caught in his throat. “…This won’t be like last time. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.” His voice cracked. He swallowed before trying again. “I promise you. No one’s going to hurt you again.”
Now shaking himself, he reached over gingerly, and gently laid a trembling hand on House’s shoulder, expecting his friend to shy away. But he sensed no reaction whatsoever. Wilson’s felt his insides grow cold. Moving his hand across House’s shoulder, he began to tenderly rub soothing circles on House’s back. Still no response.
“Come on, House. Turn around and look at us. We’re here to help you… to get you out of here.”
Nothing.
The truth was that House didn’t hear them, and he never felt Wilson’s feathery touch. Somewhere during the ride to the police station, he had retreated so far inside himself that nothing could penetrate. It was a protective measure his mind had developed during his time in prison. Once he’d figured out how to block out the taunts and to distance himself from feeling the blows, he had been able to totally dissociate from his surroundings. And now, despite two years of progressive recovery, the stress of being arrested and returned to an environment so similar to the one he had left made it far too easy to slip back inside, to shield himself from what was happening around him.
For Wilson, it was all frighteningly familiar. The way House held himself, wrapped up tight, and the fact that he wasn’t responding, was too similar to the semi-catatonic House he’d hoped never to see again. In a mere couple of hours, House had reverted to the state he’d existed in for nearly a year following his release from prison. Wilson held his breath, terrified to think of facing that trauma again.
Dismay apparent on his face, he looked over at Cuddy. She saw his face grow white as tears welled up in his eyes.
“I…I can’t reach him,” he whispered.
TBC…