Insomnia-Part 6-Day 2-Damn Yankees
When House arrived back at his place, the silence of his home felt stifling. He thought it would be such a joyous thing really. A relief from Cameron's constant chatter and worry over silly little nothings. Her incessant neediness for his complete attention and energy often grated on his nerves and reminded him how much older he was than her really. But today, remarkably, he felt uneasy without the annoyance. He went for his scotch.
She wasn't there to chastise him for taking too much. So pouring another drink didn't feel as fun as it would if she were hovering about his back. He tinkered on his piano. Immediately, he recognized a few of his higher octave flats were collapsing ugly. The old beauty needed a tuning. He knew how to tune it since he didn't like anyone touching his music maker.
He wouldn't tune it today. He would leave it until tomorrow or whenever. His knobby hands massaged one another above the keys. He could make the quiet work for him. He would find some way. There was always another medical journal or book he hadn't read which would help him with his work.
There was always another puzzle. But there really wasn't another Cameron.
He left his hand on the scotch glass but didn't move to pick it up and drink. Maybe vicodin. Maybe morphine. Maybe glycerin. Maybe cocaine...he hadn't tried that yet. Or had he?
He knew he was moving toward his own personal white oblivion. That was the place where the pain fused into reward. It would have to be a blessing for straining and changing him so much. Maybe his Dad was right all those times in his own deranged and convincing way. He should embrace the pain...pain at least reminded one they were alive.
Gregory House was alive. But would the white oblivion in its blanket of tranquility undead the deadened travesties? The little points and knicks in his soul he covered by holding steadfastly to himself. Like pressing one's hands against an open bleeding wound, the pressure would eventually stop the bleeding. His soul...his little soul...if he pressed it any further...he would squash it.
But Cameron was a magician. She had touched his soul with invisible hands and he never felt the explosion inside until she was long gone.
Damn her. Damn her to hell. Damn her to eternal painful excruciating hell.
Wasn't he happy in his misery? It was easy. It was him. And where the hell was she? It had been a half hour and she hadn't called him yet!
He was supposed to call Wilson, but he was always so predictably smug about how he knew without a doubt his friend Greg coveted the little Allison Cameron. Couldn't the man just humor him for once and say, "You're right Greg. Allison is a horrible idea. This is a real life you got for yourself. Its not a perfect life. Its not the life people want to hear about in magazines and on television, but its a life. And damn it, live it like its yours and no one else's to claim!"
But Wilson knew all people were pathetically endowed with a need for sickening hope. Hope in that the most undesirable and unscrupulous man or woman would have that one person they could turn to for ambigious comfort. Comfort.
He would never convince himself he could be a comfort to Cameron even as much as he did foolishly care over her. It had to be that she was pretty, he often thought. If she were three hundred pounds and had some serious self-esteem issues...well, she already had serious self-esteem issues, as far as House was concerned, if she was interested in him still...he wouldn't want her.
His heart would jump inside at the self-doubt. It scared him to think that he might want her in any form. That it didn't matter. All that romantic tripe you hear about when growing up and you disavow after your first broken heart; it made sense when she hung around him. There was a place for romance, butterflies, hugs, warm summers, and even wishes on ladybugs when Allison Cameron said it was so.
Damn her. Damn! The damn Yankees game! Excellent alibi, House thought with pride. He would ask Wilson over to watch the Yankees. He remembered they were playing the Kansas City Royals tonight.
House flipped open his cell phone and made the call. He got his voice mail.
"Get over here and watch the Yankees game. I'm not letting you drink my liquor either its B Y O B! Bring food. I already spent too much money on my vacation.
He laid on his couch a while and decided Cameron had kept him in suspension long enough. Forty minutes was way more than enough time for her to get cleaned up and do a few things.
Dialed her number..."House? Everything okay?" Cameron said almost in work mode.
"No, it isn't. You said you would call me and its been almost an hour," House said frustrated.
"I just got out of the shower. In fact, I am sopping wet and the only reason I answered is because I thought it might be work related."
House felt his smile before he realised he was smiling.
"You're naked?" he asked sly.
"This conversation has just officially ended," Cameron said. There was a click. She hung up.
He brought the phone away from his face with a grin. This could be interesting. He would wait another fifteen minutes and call her again.
In the interim, he would maybe catch up on some research on several rare bone diseases. He clicked and and typed on his desk top until he found the link to the file on the web site. Oh well, it had almost been five minutes. He would call her back.
"What House?" she asked exasperated.
"I am an adult you know. I wouldn't be shocked or offended if you told me you were au natural."
"House. I told you I would call you."
"And I waited," House said. "I thought I had waited long enough. So, when are you coming over?"
"You can't do this you know. It won't work," she said tart.
"I think its working," House said. Another hang up. He was getting to her.
He read over the intricacies of Gorham's disease for a while. It was odd really how sometimes when a person incurred a trauma from a broken bone and even though the splint was set and the bone should heal...it just wouldn't. Instead, a large pulsating warm lump of fluid would grow in its stead. It occurred in jaws mostly.
Call her again.
"House. I almost didn't answer this time," she said. "So, do you think that's progress?"
"Depends on what progress we want to occur here, Dr. Cameron," House said rather intellectual.
House heard Cameron audibly scoff. "Okay, you asked for it," Cameron said almost laughing. "I'll be over later." There was a click. House smirked and looked at the phone with a roll of his eyes. She didn't tell him when he would be over and God knows how she was going to act now. Okay. This was an emergency.
Press the button. "Yes. Yes. Is Dr. Wilson in his office? No, well can you please page him. Who's calling? Yes, tell him someone has died. Yes, its very urgent. I think he needs to know someone is dead." House didn't know who the hell this new nurse was but she had a real bug up her ass. House didn't have to wait long.
"Hello?" Wilson asked over House's phone. His voice sounded worried and concerned.
"This is Gregory House calling you to tell you that I am dead."
"House! Christ! I am in the middle of a board work review."
"So you are glad I rescued you from the very boring diatribes of idiots who don't know about half as much about cancer as you."
"This evaluation means my raise."
"They'll give it to you. You can't help it there is an emergency."
"What? The Yankees game? I got your message okay and for some reason I don't feel quite that motivated to show up. I have no idea why, of course."
"It's an emergency!" House cried.
"I can't wait to hear this...what, you realized finally how miserable your existence is?"
"Well--not exactly. But...I spent the last two days with Cameron."
House's voice was strained and Wilson sensed immediately the significance. There was a long pause. The noise in the background was annoying to House and it made him want Wilson to say something faster.
"I'll be over the minute I get out of the meeting," Wilson said very serious. "Just don't do anything."
There was a click and House smiled relieved that there was one person in this whole world who understood him.
She wasn't there to chastise him for taking too much. So pouring another drink didn't feel as fun as it would if she were hovering about his back. He tinkered on his piano. Immediately, he recognized a few of his higher octave flats were collapsing ugly. The old beauty needed a tuning. He knew how to tune it since he didn't like anyone touching his music maker.
He wouldn't tune it today. He would leave it until tomorrow or whenever. His knobby hands massaged one another above the keys. He could make the quiet work for him. He would find some way. There was always another medical journal or book he hadn't read which would help him with his work.
There was always another puzzle. But there really wasn't another Cameron.
He left his hand on the scotch glass but didn't move to pick it up and drink. Maybe vicodin. Maybe morphine. Maybe glycerin. Maybe cocaine...he hadn't tried that yet. Or had he?
He knew he was moving toward his own personal white oblivion. That was the place where the pain fused into reward. It would have to be a blessing for straining and changing him so much. Maybe his Dad was right all those times in his own deranged and convincing way. He should embrace the pain...pain at least reminded one they were alive.
Gregory House was alive. But would the white oblivion in its blanket of tranquility undead the deadened travesties? The little points and knicks in his soul he covered by holding steadfastly to himself. Like pressing one's hands against an open bleeding wound, the pressure would eventually stop the bleeding. His soul...his little soul...if he pressed it any further...he would squash it.
But Cameron was a magician. She had touched his soul with invisible hands and he never felt the explosion inside until she was long gone.
Damn her. Damn her to hell. Damn her to eternal painful excruciating hell.
Wasn't he happy in his misery? It was easy. It was him. And where the hell was she? It had been a half hour and she hadn't called him yet!
He was supposed to call Wilson, but he was always so predictably smug about how he knew without a doubt his friend Greg coveted the little Allison Cameron. Couldn't the man just humor him for once and say, "You're right Greg. Allison is a horrible idea. This is a real life you got for yourself. Its not a perfect life. Its not the life people want to hear about in magazines and on television, but its a life. And damn it, live it like its yours and no one else's to claim!"
But Wilson knew all people were pathetically endowed with a need for sickening hope. Hope in that the most undesirable and unscrupulous man or woman would have that one person they could turn to for ambigious comfort. Comfort.
He would never convince himself he could be a comfort to Cameron even as much as he did foolishly care over her. It had to be that she was pretty, he often thought. If she were three hundred pounds and had some serious self-esteem issues...well, she already had serious self-esteem issues, as far as House was concerned, if she was interested in him still...he wouldn't want her.
His heart would jump inside at the self-doubt. It scared him to think that he might want her in any form. That it didn't matter. All that romantic tripe you hear about when growing up and you disavow after your first broken heart; it made sense when she hung around him. There was a place for romance, butterflies, hugs, warm summers, and even wishes on ladybugs when Allison Cameron said it was so.
Damn her. Damn! The damn Yankees game! Excellent alibi, House thought with pride. He would ask Wilson over to watch the Yankees. He remembered they were playing the Kansas City Royals tonight.
House flipped open his cell phone and made the call. He got his voice mail.
"Get over here and watch the Yankees game. I'm not letting you drink my liquor either its B Y O B! Bring food. I already spent too much money on my vacation.
He laid on his couch a while and decided Cameron had kept him in suspension long enough. Forty minutes was way more than enough time for her to get cleaned up and do a few things.
Dialed her number..."House? Everything okay?" Cameron said almost in work mode.
"No, it isn't. You said you would call me and its been almost an hour," House said frustrated.
"I just got out of the shower. In fact, I am sopping wet and the only reason I answered is because I thought it might be work related."
House felt his smile before he realised he was smiling.
"You're naked?" he asked sly.
"This conversation has just officially ended," Cameron said. There was a click. She hung up.
He brought the phone away from his face with a grin. This could be interesting. He would wait another fifteen minutes and call her again.
In the interim, he would maybe catch up on some research on several rare bone diseases. He clicked and and typed on his desk top until he found the link to the file on the web site. Oh well, it had almost been five minutes. He would call her back.
"What House?" she asked exasperated.
"I am an adult you know. I wouldn't be shocked or offended if you told me you were au natural."
"House. I told you I would call you."
"And I waited," House said. "I thought I had waited long enough. So, when are you coming over?"
"You can't do this you know. It won't work," she said tart.
"I think its working," House said. Another hang up. He was getting to her.
He read over the intricacies of Gorham's disease for a while. It was odd really how sometimes when a person incurred a trauma from a broken bone and even though the splint was set and the bone should heal...it just wouldn't. Instead, a large pulsating warm lump of fluid would grow in its stead. It occurred in jaws mostly.
Call her again.
"House. I almost didn't answer this time," she said. "So, do you think that's progress?"
"Depends on what progress we want to occur here, Dr. Cameron," House said rather intellectual.
House heard Cameron audibly scoff. "Okay, you asked for it," Cameron said almost laughing. "I'll be over later." There was a click. House smirked and looked at the phone with a roll of his eyes. She didn't tell him when he would be over and God knows how she was going to act now. Okay. This was an emergency.
Press the button. "Yes. Yes. Is Dr. Wilson in his office? No, well can you please page him. Who's calling? Yes, tell him someone has died. Yes, its very urgent. I think he needs to know someone is dead." House didn't know who the hell this new nurse was but she had a real bug up her ass. House didn't have to wait long.
"Hello?" Wilson asked over House's phone. His voice sounded worried and concerned.
"This is Gregory House calling you to tell you that I am dead."
"House! Christ! I am in the middle of a board work review."
"So you are glad I rescued you from the very boring diatribes of idiots who don't know about half as much about cancer as you."
"This evaluation means my raise."
"They'll give it to you. You can't help it there is an emergency."
"What? The Yankees game? I got your message okay and for some reason I don't feel quite that motivated to show up. I have no idea why, of course."
"It's an emergency!" House cried.
"I can't wait to hear this...what, you realized finally how miserable your existence is?"
"Well--not exactly. But...I spent the last two days with Cameron."
House's voice was strained and Wilson sensed immediately the significance. There was a long pause. The noise in the background was annoying to House and it made him want Wilson to say something faster.
"I'll be over the minute I get out of the meeting," Wilson said very serious. "Just don't do anything."
There was a click and House smiled relieved that there was one person in this whole world who understood him.