Five years - chapter eight
Title: Five years
Author: snark-bait
Rating: Adult
Character/Paring: House/Cameron
Summary: House leaves prison after being convicted on drug offences, Cameron helps him readjust to his new life.
Spoilers: If you haven’t seen season 3 it's one big spoiler, but I'm going from 'Finding Judas' and just skipping very far ahead from there.
Disclaimer: All House Characters belong to Fox and David Shore.
Chapter: 8
Thanks to phineyj for the beta
Chapter eight
Allison Cameron felt worn out, even though she’d barely done a thing all day. She suspected it was probably more of a psychological tiredness because she was fretting about the choice Jack was forcing her to make; a choice that wasn’t really a choice. She was sitting at the table in the kitchen, slouched in her seat. The coffee that was inches from her hand remained untouched and had long gone cold.
Jack had given her an ultimatum. Although he’d made it seem like he’d left the ball in her court, there was only one solution to his problem. And didn’t he know it. Cameron was so annoyed with him she was on the fringes of hating him; it wasn’t going to take much more to put her over the edge.
She was worried about House and had been for weeks; life was going to be so difficult for him now. Adding Tritter’s sickening revelation in made everything ten times worse.
She didn’t know the details of what had happened to him, and she would probably never find out. But the snatches of conversation she’d heard and the look of humiliation on House’s face that had followed left her in no doubt that Tritter’s words had been true.
The thing that worried her most was that House wouldn’t have dealt with something like that in a healthy way. Knowing him, he would have taken any traumatic event and any emotion connected to it and pushed it down inside as far as it would go, holding it under the water until it drowned. But the body of evidence, the memories, would still be there.
She couldn’t imagine he’d have spoken to anyone about it, even if given the opportunity to. This was a man who felt physical pain when someone he loved left him, because he couldn’t admit he actually cared about them.
Not dealing with something as devastating as…that, could lead those painful emotions to bubble dangerously up at a later date, and if it ever did come to the surface, she was scared about what it would do to him.
Cameron was pulled from her thoughts by a sound she’d been dreading to hear since Jack had left - the click of the front door closing after House returned.
She looked at the clock on the wall - it was seven thirty. Danny had been put to bed half an hour earlier; she’d been sitting in the kitchen since then. As hard as it was going to be, she was going to have to ask House to leave.
“What up?” House said light-heartedly when he entered the kitchen.
This was horrible, she decided; how the hell was she supposed to do this? After last night and after what had happened on Friday. She could raise a smile only halfway; it felt like a thin uncomfortable line smeared across her face.
House began to unbutton his jacket, observing her as he did, “Jack outdid himself, huh?” he asked, sensing her mood.
“You could say that,” she replied, shifting to sit up in her seat. “We had a pretty volatile conversation.”
He quirked an eyebrow up, “You had like a real argument with someone? Shame I missed that,” he teased but the half smile it put on his face didn’t stay for long, because she didn’t mirror it back.
“It went a lot worse than I was expecting,” Cameron said seriously before looking away from him. “I need to ask you something.”
She didn’t like being forced into something she desperately didn’t want to do, but Daniel came first, regardless of how unpleasant this was.
“I’m really sorry, but, is there someplace else you could stay until you’ve found an apartment?”
House stopped unbuttoning his jacket; his slender fingers pausing on the last button, then to her surprise a half smile appeared on his face; she couldn’t work it out and certainly hadn’t been expecting that reaction.
“Why are you smiling?”
House undid the last button then shrugged off his jacket. “I found somewhere today.” He placed the jacket on the back of a chair and glanced away from her. “I know you need me out; I’m glad you’ve finally admitted that my being here is a problem,” he said.
“It was never a problem for me,” Cameron assured him.
House looked at her again, “But it was for Jack,” he replied.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “It was, and I’m really sorry.”
House pulled out a chair and sat opposite her, “Not your fault,” he said indifferently. “Anyway, I can see Jack’s point.”
Cameron seemed agitated by this, “He’s not doing it because of you or your past. He’s doing it because he wants to get at me.”
“And it’s worked,” House noted calmly. “But it’s not a problem; you should let him think it is though,” he added. “Let him think he’s got his way at a really big price, then use it to punish him for the rest of the year.”
Cameron couldn’t help but smile at that suggestion because it was a confident, arrogant approach to a shitty situation, and it reminded her of what House used to be like five years ago. The biggest difference between then and now, in her opinion, was confidence. He didn’t seem so sure of himself these days.
House leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his hand, “I’ll leave tomorrow, unless you need me out tonight?”
“No,” she shook her head, “tomorrow is fine.” She stared at a set of greasy fingerprints Daniel had left on the surface of the table, just to the right of House’s elbow. Dan had a habit of getting bored halfway through his meals and creating works of art with his food instead of eating it.
It was a shame it had to be this way because Cameron liked having House around; she liked seeing the interaction he had with Dan, because however awkward and inept House was with adults, he seemed to have a way with children; she suspected it was probably something to do with being on their wavelength.
And then she realized, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit: this was House, after all. He’d disappeared for the day and come back with the solution to her problem without really knowing what was going on. And he didn’t appear to be bothered that she’d gone ahead and asked him to leave, but then she never could tell with him, and the extra facial scruff made him even more unreadable these days.
“How did you manage to find a place so soon? Don’t you need references and stuff?”
“Nope, I had a Cuddy,” he replied. “The lady who owns the place is an old friend.”
“Well that was lucky, I’m so relieved you’ve already found somewhere,” Cameron said, and she meant it. She got out of her chair then and went over to the fridge, “I couldn't be bothered to cook tonight, so Dan and I had Chinese take-out. I saved you some; you hungry?”
“Sure,” House said, tapping his finger on the tabletop. He was looking off into the middle distance with a contemplative expression on his face; he’d been wearing that look a lot recently.
“Are you pissed at me?” Cameron asked while her back was turned to him.
“No,” he replied. “I’m just wondering if the kitchen at this new place has a smoke alarm,” he offered.
“Why?”
“Have you any idea how long it’s been since I cooked myself a meal?”
Cameron smiled and turned to face him again, “You cooked a lot before?” she asked, doubtfully. House thought about it.
“Good point,” he said, nodding. “Scrap the smoke alarm, I’ll just comb the area for take-aways and collect menus, I won’t even need to get cookware.”
“Or a dinner set,” she added. “Just get paper plates and put it all straight in the trash.”
He pointed at her and nodded. “Sounds good, that’ll save me even more money.”
They smiled at one another, and Cameron pulled a carton of noodles from the fridge.
She couldn’t believe how smoothly that had gone after all of the worrying she’d done today. And then the memory of the night before found her, unexpectedly. They’d spent far too long passing looks that meant a lot more than either would admit to; finally they’d kissed, and not only that, but he’d kissed her. She’d barely had time to process what had happened because of the conflict with Jack, but it made her even more upset that House was going.
She figured the day had been action packed enough without bringing it up, so she wasn’t even going to attempt it, but (not for the first time that day) she found herself loathing her ex-husband.
~
Cameron finished work early on Monday evening so she could drive House over to his new place. They went via Danny’s school, picked him up and then they stopped off at the lock up where the rest of House’s stuff was being stored.
There were more boxes than he’d been expecting, surprisingly even some furniture; there was an old leather chair, a coffee table and a few other things. It wasn’t much but it would do for now. He’d need to hire someone with a removal van to pick most of it up.
Cameron had mentioned that she and Cuddy had boxed most of the stuff when House’s place had been sold; he could vaguely remember agreeing to it via his lawyer after Cuddy offered. He suspected now, looking at what had been saved, that Wilson might have been involved as well. There were personal things here that only Wilson would have known were worth keeping; stuff with sentimental rather than monetary value. House did a mental shrug and decided to come back to that later.
He opened a box stored right at the back to see what was in it and noticed that folded on top of a stack of books was his old bike jacket. He reached in and took it out, flapping it up and down to get some of the dust off that had managed to get through a slight gap in the top of the box. He’d forgotten all about it. Stuff he’d forgotten about long ago hit him; stupid insignificant memories.
He took off the jacket he was wearing and put the old one on; it still fit, it was maybe a little loose but he’d get away with it.
“Wow, that brings back memories,” Cameron said, stopping to observe him when she came back in. He took it off quickly, feeling self conscious but not sure why. He made sure it was in one of the boxes they were taking though.
They took the boxes with the records and CDs in, and his old record player. Cameron had given him the TV from her bedroom, claiming she never used it anyway. He assumed she was concerned he’d be raising veins the moment she left him alone if he had nothing to occupy him.
“There’s no furniture,” Cameron noted worriedly, when he showed her into the bare living room of his new apartment.
“In here,” he agreed. “But there is in the bedroom, and the kitchen. It’ll be fine: I’m a big boy now.”
Daniel ran in after checking out the yard and declared, “I’m hungry,” loudly, before spinning around in the centre of the room.
“We’re going in a minute, Dan, can you wait five minutes?” Cameron said.
“Just five minutes?” he asked seriously; she nodded. “Okay,” he said valiantly.
They emptied Cameron’s car of House’s things; Dan insisted on carrying a small box of CDs and managed to drop them all over the floor.
“You suck at this,” House told him light-heartedly. “How about you stick to the spinning and the running?” he told him as Cameron retrieved the CDs from the floor with a sheepish look on her face.
“We should probably get out of here before he trashes all of your stuff,” Cameron said apologetically.
House went over to the window and looked out into the yard. “What do you think?” He asked.
“I like it.” He heard her shoes click against the hardwood floor as she stepped a few paces closer. “I think you’d get a piano in that corner, no problem,” she finished.
He shot her a brief look before shrugging and staring outside again, “Maybe, but pianos cost money,” he said thoughtfully.
“When are you starting back at work?” she asked then.
“Wednesday,” House replied, wondering what color to paint the living room. He didn’t really give a crap if he was honest, but he needed to tackle it sooner rather than later so he could get some furniture in here. The landlady had offered to get someone to do it before he moved in, explaining she’d wanted to get it done before a new tenant arrived, but because he needed somewhere as soon as possible he’d offered to do it himself.
“Okay, I’ll make sure I’m free Wednesday morning,” Cameron said seriously.
He turned to look at her, “Why?”
“Cuddy asked me to show you how to use some of the new equipment in the lab,” she admitted.
“You mean Cuddy wants you to baby-sit me?” he said disagreeably.
“No, of course not. The whole of the research lab has just been refitted; she just thought you’d prefer I show you how to use the new equipment instead of Paul.”
“Who’s Paul?” House asked warily.
“Head of Research, he’s really good at his job,” she assured him. “He’s just a little strange,” she then added cautiously.
House felt like there was something he wasn’t being told here. No one to answer to but Cuddy, yeah right, he thought bitterly. Cameron seemed to pick on his worries.
‘I think you’ll be with Paul just while you get your bearings. And there is plenty of cool equipment down there for you to blow up; I’m sure it won’t be as boring as you’re worried it will be,” she said lightly.
“Yeah I get it: I should be thankful she’s giving me a job, noted,” he said grumpily. He was grateful but it didn’t lessen the way he felt about having to take the position because he didn’t have another option. He consoled himself with the inner mantra of, ‘For the moment.’
Once life had settled down into a new routine, he could look at the alternatives; he didn’t have to stay there forever if it wasn’t right for him. Cameron didn’t try and continue the line of conversation.
“Do you want me to pick you up on Wednesday morning?”
House looked at the paved yard and wondered if he’d get a bike parked on it. “All right,” he said quietly.
~
When Cameron left he ordered a pizza with everything on it and ate the whole thing; his appetite for junk food had returned. When he’d finished he stood in the living room, the evidence of his life before prison neatly packed in boxes around him. He decided he didn’t want to unpack yet; there was no point until he’d painted the living room.
He’d foolishly mentioned to Cameron he was going to do it at the weekend, and she’d (insisted) volunteered to help; it was probably going to look worse than it already did once they’d attacked it with paint and gloss. But it was worth having a go himself before getting professionals in to do it; he had to be careful with his money for now. He wasn’t sure where he’d be a year from now, or what he’d be doing. So, he was going to play it safe with the funds he had.
He set the record player up in his room and sorted the bed out. Then, he stretched out on the bed watching some crap he wasn’t really following; it seemed like a shitty Australian soap. He decided to mute the sound and put on a Led Zeppelin record, aiming to drown out every thought on his mind and get lost in some rock music.
One hand was clamped to his thigh and the other was behind his pillow, every now and again he’d massage the muscle carefully, always trying and always failing to ease the ache there. Moving the heavier boxes into the apartment probably hadn’t helped.
His leg was a relentless distraction he couldn’t dull anymore, and with strong pain medication off the table forever now, he wondered if anything else could offer the reprieve from pain Vicodin once had, or was this it? Not necessarily, because he had options now, and they worried him a little.
There were all sorts of things he could get his hands on if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, but the persistent ache wore him out; to have an alternative not to feel this way was always going to be tempting. He was always going to crave opiates to some extent, not just because he liked feeing high but because he liked being pain free.
There were two sides to every story and that was his.
He knew he had to try and stick it out with the crappy over the counter shit for now, and continue with the rehab he’d started in prison, even though it wiped him. It had made his leg stronger than it had been before.
He closed his eyes and wondered if Jimmy Page had really traded his soul to the dark side to become one of the greatest guitarists ever. Pretty unlikely, seeing as the Devil didn’t exist but House liked the concept that such talent couldn’t be gained through practice; bargains had to be made with Lucifer for riffs and licks like this. He wondered if that’s what he’d been doing after the infarction; trading everything in so he could keep going, keep offering up his talent until he had to pay.
He wasn’t looking forward to Wednesday. He figured he should feel happier about the whole thing because he’d be able to occupy himself and keep busy. But working at the hospital meant seeing Wilson again. Did he try and speak to him or did he avoid the whole issue? Because they were bound to bump into each other at some point, it was a given.
He wasn’t sure what to do; he was still pretty torn on the issue.
In his life he’d been betrayed, effectively, by people he had no respect for and he’d always maintained that people couldn’t be disloyal to him, if he didn’t value their loyalty in the first place. To react like it was a bolt from the blue when people acted like humans do was naive and idiotic, and it had been one of the traits that had grated on him most about Cameron when she’d started working for him. Her surprise at finding that good people were more than capable of doing nasty things was something he’d wanted to break her of. He’d never come across anyone so surprised by human nature.
But even he’d been surprised by the events leading up to his incarceration. Some people would do anything to get what they wanted, all it depended on was how far they were willing to go to get it.
House had often struggled to work out what exactly had happened, specifically. Had it been his foolishness and underestimation of Tritter that was to blame or had Wilson’s involvement sealed the deal on the whole thing? On top of that, how much had human nature factored into it? Who’d been doing what to get their way? And what was the motivation behind it?
He could still remember how he’d felt that day; how shocked he’d been when Wilson had taken the stand on the day of his trial. Tritter had told him they didn’t even need Wilson’s testimony, but he’d gone and done the deed anyway, completely sealing House’s fate.
He’d considered that Wilson had reached his limit because of a punch and a forged prescription; he’d even considered that Wilson had just wanted to teach him a lesson. One thing he was sure of was that he hadn’t known his friend as well as he thought he did.
It wasn’t until very recently that House had considered that maybe his friend had tried to help him out any way he could in a desperate situation and House had thrown it all back in his face, leaving Wilson with no option other than to go along with what he’d agreed to do after things had backfired.
It was over now and most of it wasn’t worth dwelling on; all House needed to work out was where that left things with Wilson.
~
House woke early on Wednesday morning and took a long shower to try and clear his mind of all the niggling little worries he had about going back to the hospital.
He observed himself in the mirror afterwards; he’d finally shaved off the beard, but left some scruff. Not because that was a particular look he wanted to reclaim, but because it hid a thin scar that followed the slant of his jaw line on the right. His jaw had been fractured in three places the first time he’d had his ass kicked in prison. He didn’t like to see it because it reminded him of how fucked up things had been at first. Although he would concede that the scar was in exactly the right place, because it had been his mouth that had gotten him into trouble, as usual.
House wasn’t entirely sure what to wear, or more to the point, what he’d get away with. There was one very clear fact about going back and that was he wasn’t going to be an asset to the hospital any more. Anyone could do the job he was going to be doing, so Cuddy had way more reason to fire him if he became difficult over things he used to get away easily with. So, reluctantly, he’d purchased a dark blue tie to go with the black blazer and pale blue shirt he’d bought the previous day.
He went into the bedroom and got dressed, leaving the tie off; he still wasn’t entirely sure he could bring himself to put it on.
He finished the outfit with a pair of jeans and decided he was pushing it with his Nikes, but after being forced to wear uncomfortable prison issue boots for so long, he really didn’t want to wear anything else and decided to try and get away with it.
He had a cup of coffee and then went back into his bedroom, where he picked up the tie and held it in his hands for a few moments, and then, grudgingly, he pulled the collar of his shirt up and put it on. When he was finished he looked at himself in the mirror. The fact that he looked smart didn’t make him feel good, like it probably did most people, it made him feel like crap; it was forced, and it wasn’t him.
Cameron arrived ten minutes early but he was ready any way. She smiled warmly at him when he pulled the front door open, “You look really nice,” she observed.
“Great,” he returned gruffly; he didn’t agree. The shirt itched, the tie was already annoying and he did not feel confident about the day ahead. He turned to lock his door and then recommended they leave with an uncomfortable, “Let’s go.”
The morning air was fresh but cold, it had stopped raining at least: that was about the only good thing about the day ahead.
~
It was very strange to be back in the hospital again, House decided. The place was busy already and anxiety had hit him, similar to the the way he’d felt at the mall. Being back here gave him mixed feelings and he was glad he hadn’t eaten anything yet, because he felt queasy with nerves.
They avoided Cuddy’s office at House’s request, and headed for the basement where the research department was located.
Cameron had been right: technology had moved on and House needed some of the equipment and settings explaining to him. About half an hour after they got there, Paul had arrived - he was quite possibly the dullest human alive. Cameron hadn’t stayed long after that; she’d been lucky enough to get paged, made her apologies and left.
Paul had taken over then, and House had suppressed the urge to check the guy’s pulse when he’d been going through the work schedule with him. Everything about him was dull, his clothes, his tone…his face.
House had picked up on the discomfort in the other man’s body language instantly. He was clearly nervous. It wasn’t a total surprise, really; House had already had quite a reputation before being busted for drug abuse. This made him wonder if Cuddy had offered the guy a pay rise to put up with him, because it was generally seen that Leopards didn’t change their spots.
Unsurprisingly, what Paul was expecting him to do and what Cuddy had told him he’d be doing were completely different things. Cuddy had sold him the research position on the principle that he’d be working on his own projects, not passaging confluent cancer cells for the in-vitro study Paul was working on. He couldn’t be the guy’s flunky for much longer, if he made it to the end of the week he’d be surprised and bearing in mind that tomorrow was Thursday, things were looking pretty dire.
House suspected it was a bad sign that he loathed his new job already; he was only four hours into it. The lab was too bright and too warm, and not only did he have to wear a white coat, but glasses and gloves to match. He’d initially refused to wear any gear but Paul had just gone on and on and on until House had done it just to shut him up, he was like an alarm clock at four in the morning with no snooze button. It was uncomfortable and boring enough without the guy’s monotonous drone making him want to smash up test tubes so he could stick the broken shards in his eyes, just so he had an excuse to leave the room.
He’d had quite enough of the speeches about how it was more than just flasks and incubators that were needed to proliferate cells successfully, in his opinion a little bit of love was needed too. The guy was way too into his bacteria and micro organisms for comfort.
Working in a different department and doing basically lab technician work left House feeling slightly displaced. It felt familiar to be here but strange at the same time; he was beginning to tire of the sensation.
He escaped for an early lunch, not because he was particularly hungry but to get away from Paul. The man had issued nasal threats about the consequences of leaving early, just as the door had been shutting behind House, but he would have been moved to violence if he’d stayed and listened to the man one minute longer.
He was on the second floor now, up with the real people, leaning against the wall at the end of a busy corridor; the white stick of a red lollipop sticking out of his mouth. He was trying to find the bravery to knock on the door at the end. It was hard enough to visualize the action, let alone actually going ahead and doing it.
Cameron had not-so-subtly mentioned that Wilson had moved offices again, before providing the details of exactly where to find it. House hadn’t asked her for that information, but he supposed someone had to break the ice. He didn’t want to bump into him at the cafeteria or in the parking lot. He was taking control back of his life; if this was going to happen, it was going to be on his terms.
A mixture of patients, busy doctors and stressed nurses passed by him and not one of them gave him a second look. And why would they? They had no idea how monumentally hard this was going to be for him.
When House had first gone to prison he’d convinced himself this day would never come, that he wouldn’t speak to Wilson ever again. A mess of angry, hurt feelings had compelled him to feel that certain about it.
But never, ever again was a long time.
His feelings had changed over time; circumstances had conspired to deliver him to this point. The closer he’d got to being released from prison, the more his view of things had altered.
House moved out of the way so an orderly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair could get past him. He was standing in the centre of the corridor now, feeling a little lost and probably looking that way too, which made him feel stupid. Do it or don’t do it, but do something, he chided himself.
So he headed for Wilson’s office.
He tried to recall how it felt to just boldly walk in there uninvited, the way he used to, and then he wondered what had been going through his mind back then. That he could walk into that room, any room and demand that everyone stop what they were doing and listen to what he had to say.
House stopped half way along and put the candy he'd been sucking in the trash, it was just making him feel sick now. He almost turned back and headed downstairs, back to the lab. He still wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. No, he’d come this far: water, bridges and all that crap, he had to get it out of the way. He reached the door and held his hand up. With his fist clenched and hovering just in front of ‘James Wilson MD’ on the door, he remembered he hadn’t always bothered to knock before. Sometimes he’d just barge in so he could rip into conversation.
‘I’m here, so stop the press and listen to me because this is important.’
And people had stopped, and people had listened.
He couldn’t do that now, barge in, trying to pretend like the events of five and a bit years hadn’t happened, or simply didn’t matter. That would take a level of arrogance he hadn’t retained, and it would be a misguided approach to what he was trying to achieve.
Which was? Nope, he still wasn’t entirely sure.
His heart was in his throat, he knew that much. He swallowed a few times, absently tapping his cane against the floor as he tried to find the courage he needed to go through with this. He swallowed one more time and then knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the soft, easy reply. House froze at the sound, briefly, but then decided he’d rather go in than have Wilson pull open the door to find him stuck between advance and retreat.
He did have one very good reason to be here; he’d lead with that and see where it got him; he’d been over his own wrongs on many occasions and he’d had a lot of time to think them through. He’d trailed back along the path that had lead him to a jail cell once or twice, ticking off Wilson’s various breaking points as he went.
He had to do this; it was far too long in coming. He reached for the handle, turned it and opened the door; it swung inward but he remained in the doorway.
Wilson was leaning over his desk, searching through a stack of files, he glanced distractedly over and then the frustration at whatever he’d lost fell away and he was all surprise.
“Hey,” House volunteered awkwardly.
Wilson, still stooping over his desk quickly straightened up, whatever he was looking for no longer a concern.
“House,” he said quietly. “Hey.”
The first thing House noticed was how much older Wilson looked. For some reason he hadn’t thought about it - the way he was going to look. He’d put on a little weight; not much. The son-of-a-bitch hadn’t lost any more hair though, House noted to himself wryly. It didn’t look grey either, and House suspected Wilson had been hitting the ‘Just for men’ hard.
But Wilson looked exhausted; his eyes were red rimmed. He was as close as House had ever seen to scruffy: a day’s stubble on his face and his tie loosened already; it wasn’t even midday yet and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. House gathered Cameron had mentioned he was returning today, and wondered if Wilson had gotten about as much sleep as he’d had the night before, which was very little.
They stood silently for a few moments, both unsure of what to say. Wilson still looked surprised; House leaned against the door frame and tapped his cane on the floor.
“I heard about the job; it’s good news, I’m glad you came back,” Wilson offered gently.
House nodded, a semi-frown of deliberation forming, “It was either that or Burger King; not a tough choice.”
He shot a quick look at him and was relieved when a weak smile appeared on Wilson’s face, it was gone quickly enough but it comforted him all the same. It signaled a sliver of hope that one day, perhaps they could get back what somebody else had stolen from them. That maybe a fraction of what had existed between them could be reclaimed
“How’s it going so far, do you like it?” Wilson asked.
House nodded a few times, then blew out some air from puffed cheeks as it turned into a shake of the head, “Not really,” he admitted.
“You’re sure about that after half a day?” Wilson enquired, but it was delivered very cautiously, like he had no idea what he could and couldn’t say to him now.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Paul’s a little…” Wilson stopped and thought about his words, his head jutted to the side slightly, “…Weird, but he’s harmless.”
“So people keep telling me, and yet his voice is encouraging me to harm myself.”
Wilson found a knowing little smile and placed his hands on his hips.
House dropped his focus to the floor. He was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotions he hadn’t been expecting to feel; there were all kinds of memories and feelings that were flooding back now he was actually in the same room as Wilson.
On the harsher nights in prison, when he’d been confined to a solitary cell for some feeble misdemeanor, there had been occasions he’d been unable to think of anyone else. Even though he’d been angry with him, he’d still missed Wilson a great deal. There had been such guilty, conflicting emotions raging within - ones that came from hating someone as much as he missed them.
The anger had diffused over time; House suspected particles of it remained in various cells and yards in that Jersey prison. Something that strong didn’t just die, but it wasn’t inside of him any longer, thankfully.
There was only disappointment left; their friendship had been a casualty of Michael Tritter’s vendetta against him. The thing they’d had between them - that exclusive, personal understanding, that had been so different to anything House had ever felt before, was gone. It was obvious now he’d lost something irreplaceable, and it made him wish he hadn’t taken Wilson for granted..
Silence had crammed the space between them again, almost like a respectful acknowledgement of the loss of that intangible bond.
“It’s really good to see you,” Wilson said eventually, an obvious sadness in his voice.
“Yeah,” House replied hesitantly, not sure if that was an agreement, “I came up here for a reason, actually.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, he stood up straight and held it toward Wilson without looking at him.
“What’s this?” Wilson asked.
“It’s a list of names,” House said, smoothing his thumb over his chin, “Of the people I’ve wronged,” he explained.
Wilson unfolded the sheet and read it, and then he looked at him again. “There’s only one name here,” he noted, looking puzzled.
“Only one person I cared to apologize to,” House said uneasily. “I am sorry about what happened,” he said, leaning against the doorframe again.
Wilson stared silently at him for a moment, like he was trying to work out what the hell was going on. “I thought you were mad at me,” he said eventually.
“I was,” House admitted while looking at the floor, “For a while; it took some time to see the bigger picture. I only have myself to blame for what happened.”
Wilson dropped the piece of paper onto his desk, “How is everything going?”
“Okay,” House said as positively as he could; the word felt like a lie to him, but it carried on the wind convincingly. “There’s a lot of stuff I need to sort out; it’s going to take time for me,” he cleared his throat. “It’s going to take time for me…to adjust.”
“I understand,” Wilson said. “Cameron mentioned that you were off the drugs now?”
Those words seemed clumsy to House and Wilson’s expression that followed the words apologized for them.
“Yeah,” House said.
“Well done,” Wilson volunteered awkwardly.
That didn’t sound right either; neither of them it seemed was happy with that sitting in the air.
“I should go,” House said. “I ah, I’m sorry Cameron involved you the other night too,” he added carefully, “She shouldn’t have called you.”
“No, I’m glad she did,” Wilson returned. “It wasn’t a problem.”
House nodded, and then went to leave. Wilson stared at the piece of paper again for a moment.
“Can we talk again, at some point?” Wilson asked, hesitantly.
House shrugged, “Don’t see why not.”
“Because,” Wilson continued, “You obviously read the letter?”
House stopped then and shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”
He turned to face him; Wilson had a perplexed expression on his face, “So you don’t know?”
“Know what?” House returned. He was starting to feel puzzled himself.
“What happened,” Wilson said slowly.
House thought about it, “What happened is you testified against me, and I ended up in prison; what else is there to know?”
His words came quickly, like a rush of blood to the head and sounded much too bitter. He hadn’t come here for that sort of a conversation. Wilson looked instantly hurt and his hand went to his neck, before he glanced away.
“But you came here anyway?” Wilson said, more to himself than to House.
What else was there to add? Wilson had made Tritter’s case airtight. With the forged Oxy prescription and Wilson’s testimony, House had been a sitting duck. What else was there to explain?
“I’m gonna go,” House said, getting uncomfortable about where things were heading.
“All right, but I don’t suppose you still have it, the letter?” Wilson questioned.
It had been with him now for two and a half years, “Maybe,” House said, shrugging like he wasn’t sure, like he didn’t know it was sitting on the desk in his room at home.
“You should read it,” Wilson encouraged him, softly.
House didn’t reply. He left the room and closed the door behind him.
~
“I’d rather sit in a room and constantly stick a pin in my eye, than go back down and listen to that guy,” House said gloomily as he pushed his cold, untouched lunch around his plate, as they sat in the cafeteria.
“He’s not that bad,” Cameron said, smiling.
“Oh, he is, you weren’t joking about the humor lobotomy.”
One of Cameron’s colleagues came over; House didn’t look up or acknowledge the guy. He was too busy brooding. The reality was his dour mood had come from seeing Wilson. He wasn’t sure how he felt about things, and because he felt ill at ease, he hadn’t mentioned anything to Cameron.
“I’m sorry to bother you at lunch, Dr Cameron,” her colleague said politely, shooting House a very obvious look.
“It’s okay, Howard,” Cameron replied, “What’s wrong?”
“We just got the labs back on our patient, and I wanted to ask…” he stopped talking then but House was lost in the thought of how many staples it would take to clamp Paul’s mouth closed. Eventually he realized Howard had stopped talking and was now watching him. House glanced over at Cameron, then back at the kid.
“What?” House said grumpily.
“You’re Dr House, aren’t you?” he said diffidently, and then he let out a slight laugh of embarrassment.
“Just House,” he replied uncomfortably, and then he shot another look at Cameron, who was way ahead of him and already had her ‘Be nice’ face on.
“I’m sorry. It’s just in college-” he stopped, laughed again and looked away, “You’re a legend.”
“You can just leave me the file, I’ll be up straight after lunch,” Cameron said. It was a polite way of saying ‘I’d leave now, before you are mortally wounded with a spork.’
Howard did as asked; he gave her the file, then left, grinning to himself and shooting them fleeting glances as he went.
“That guy works with you? Like, curing people that are gravely ill?” House said doubtfully. “I’m surprised he can tie his own shoelaces.”
“Because he thinks you’re cool; why is that a bad thing?” Cameron asked, and then added, “Actually if he thinks you’re cool, then that must make me cool by association.”
House shook his head, “No, you laughed at one of Paul’s joke attempts this morning; you can never be cool now.”
“I was being polite,” she defended herself, spearing some salad with her fork.
House lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head to suggest he wasn’t buying it, “No, you chuckled then held your belly; you were amused,” he said flatly.
~
Two years earlier
Two months had passed since Cameron’s last visit and House hadn’t spoken to her once in that time. He hadn’t put in any visiting requests or called either. Of course Cameron being Cameron, she’d written, apologized profusely for any upset she might have caused him and taken full blame for the argument, before urging him to put in a request so they could talk things through.
He hadn’t. He wanted to, he missed talking to her; in fact if he was honest he just flat out missed her. But it still wasn’t a good idea for her to visit, her feelings for him were flawed and she needed to realize that.
Preedy was an hour late escorting him to the yard and House was too wrapped up in his thoughts to ask why. “How come Dr Cameron hasn’t come to visit again this month?” he asked as they walked. Curiosity, as usual had got the better of him.
“None of your business,” House returned, giving Preedy a look that said he did not want to talk about it. Preedy thought about his options, and decided to keep silent.
There had always been an intangible sort of chemistry between him and Cameron, even though he’d tried to make it seem as one sided as he possibly could. In the beginning it really had been one sided. Fair enough, he’d been attracted to her on a physical level; he was many kinds of bastard, so not above taking advantage of her crush on him to get laid, but he just hadn’t wanted the mess that would have created. So he hadn’t pursued it. He’d played on it once or twice, because he could, but had never taken it seriously.
His damaged personality was the only thing she found attractive about him; that was her thing, what else could it be? He wasn’t physically attractive, not by comparison to her. He was a complete asshole to everyone he met. Once or twice he’d courted dangerous little thoughts of, ‘Maybe when her fellowship is over’ before shaking his head and pushing such whimsical ideas from his mind. The bottom line had always been her feelings ran deeper than his.
And then the shit had really hit the fan: Tritter had come, seen, kicked his ass, and he’d ended up here.
And little by little, she’d grown on him.
The dynamics of their relationship had changed dramatically, and she’d changed, and what came with that realization were new feelings. He’d never discussed it with her but the visits had filled a huge void in his life; he’d gone from grudgingly letting her come, to enjoying the visits a bit, and he’d ended up really looking forward to them.
He’d been aware that the way he felt about her was shifting, but it had never seemed important, because of her unavailability. She was married, had a son; it didn’t matter how he felt now because she obviously wouldn’t feel the same way, after all this time (not to mention the small detail that he was in prison.)
So her surprising admission had shocked and worried him; he couldn’t be responsible for any more screw-ups and damage in the lives of the people he knew. (People he cared about?)
House was miles away, lost in thought and was a full step into the yard before he noticed who else was already in there; when he looked up his heart didn’t just skip a beat, it seemed to seize like a water pipe at minus temperature. He stopped so abruptly that Preedy bumped into him.
“Careful,” he said, pushing House away from him, gently.
Anthony Felix was standing in the middle of the yard poised to take a shot at the net; he stopped when he saw him and then grinned. House was so shocked to see him, Preedy almost had the gate locked behind him. He turned and dodged abruptly back out before Preedy could pull it shut, wincing when the nerves in his leg constricted painfully. He stood nervously behind him.
House felt physically sick; he hadn’t seen the man in the yard since the day he’d been admitted to the medical wing. The last real memory he had of Felix, (one that he hadn’t been desperately blocking out) was of the man grabbing him roughly and marching him toward the gym, Marquez and two other people with him ensuring escape was futile. House could still remember the noxious threats he'd whispered in his ear of what would happen, if he didn’t keep quiet.
“I’m not going in there,” House said tensely.
Preedy glanced in at Felix then back at House, “What’s gotten into you?”
“I thought protective custody was supposed to…” he began to explain and then he stopped, remembering that he’d never named names, and wasn’t about to; even with the nature of the attack, it wasn’t the done thing.
Preedy observed him quietly for a moment, until something somewhere clicked into place and he pulled the gate shut, by which time House had backed right up to the wall opposite the gate.
Preedy went over to him, “I thought you said you never saw who attacked you,” he said softly. So it had clicked; House was so glad they were on the same page without him having to explain any further.
He looked away; it made no difference what he’d said at the time, everyone knew what had happened and who was responsible. “I’m not going in there,” he said firmly and he meant it, if Preedy tried to make him he’d resist. He didn’t give a crap if he pissed Preedy off or not. He shot a quick, uncomfortable look at him, “Please,” he appealed, almost inaudibly.
Preedy thought about it for a moment, “All right,” he said then calmly, before scratching his chin, “But you’ll have to go back to your cell.”
That was more than okay with House.
~
House was white as a sheet when he arrived back. He went straight to the toilet and dry heaved but nothing came up. He leant forward against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d never felt so physically affected by someone else’s presence in all of his life, not even his father, and he’d been a pretty formidable force to be reckoned with.
“Are you all right?” Preedy asked seriously. House had hardly been aware of him standing just outside. He was too caught up in trying to stop it all coming back, and fighting a losing battle.
He wiped a hand down his face, “What’s he doing up here?” he asked; his voice sounded strange to him…scared.
“There was a messy fight in general population over the weekend; he ratted to Redfield about something Marquez did. I think some of the guys from his crew tried to,” Preedy waved a hand in front of his neck in a cutting motion; “He asked to come here.”
That didn’t make any sense to House; Felix and Marquez had been very tight. Ratting on someone you were that close to in this environment…it just didn’t add up; it didn’t make sense because Felix wasn’t that stupid. It wouldn’t just be his life on the inside that would be affected; they were from the same neighborhood. Ratting on Marquez would be suicidal for him.
House didn’t buy it for one minute, he thought as he sat down on his bed.
“He’s got an agenda,” he said anxiously, distressed that he knew exactly what the guy’s motivation for being here was, him. What he could not understand, was why they still felt like he was worth going for, after what had happened.
~
The weeks that followed, House ranked as being some of the worst time he’d served. It had become clear that not having to see any of them again, after what had happened, had enabled him to live in a comfy pocket of denial, helping him to pretend that it never had actually happened. Felix’s presence was a stark, cold reminder that it had.
“How you doing House?” he’d say, in a smug, contented tone when he passed his cell in the mornings when Preedy escorted him to the shower block. House always ignored him.
And it went on that way, the same every day; the guy made like they were old buddies and tried to chat to him. It was starting to get to him.
Felix would start before he reached his cell - House could always hear him before he saw him - saying things like “You’re so quiet these days, and you used to have such a big mouth.” It continued until he woke up dreading the impending heckling.
House knew he shouldn’t let it get to him because it made him look weak, but seeing him threw up so much inside it was obvious to House he really hadn’t dealt with any of it and didn’t want to.
When he’d arrived on this block he’d just moved on. He’d been in a bad fight, pissed off the wrong people and it was over, that was it, nothing more to think about. Case closed.
“There’s nothing I can do about him being here, you’re just going to have to get used to it.” Preedy said to him early one morning.
House didn’t think he could just get used to it, “I’m fine,” he replied, not staring at the man.
“Yeah, you’re fine,” Preedy returned doubtfully. “You haven’t said a word to anyone in two weeks; everything is great.”
House took a deep angry breath; he was so sick of people talking at him, people who didn’t know him, people who thought they did but had no fucking idea what he’d been through.
“Well, how would you react, trapped in the same space as someone,” he stopped again. He wasn’t going to acknowledge it.
“You said…”
“We both know what I said means nothing,” House spat irritably. He was snapping at the wrong person, he knew that but who else could he snap at? “I want to go back to general population, I might as well now,” he finished.
Preedy seemed surprised by this, “Don’t be stupid, House, at least here he can’t get anywhere near you, you know it’s not like that over there.”
~
He’d known it was going to happen. He’d stayed awake and worried about it. And it happened when Preedy wasn’t in, before his shift started. A couple of the younger officers were struggling in his absence; they always doubled prisoners up if they were busy when it came to exercise time. An officer tried to put him into the yard, again when Felix was already there.
House had refused, and calmly asked to go back to his cell but the officer had insisted, so he’d refused some more until the officer had tried to forcibly put him in the room. He’d had no choice but to take a poorly aimed swing at the man (one a blind man would have seen coming a mile off). It didn’t connect but it did the trick; he found himself face down on the floor with the guy’s knee in his back as he cuffed him.
Then he was marched down to segregation .He didn’t care because that had been the plan. Anything was better than being locked in a confined space with that man. He’d gladly stay in segregation. The guard threatened him with a week and House had insolently told him to make it two.
He felt compelled to pound on the door as it was locked, like everyone else did once they’d been dumped in here, just to release some of the antagonistic feelings inside, but with his hands cuffed behind his back and his bum leg he couldn’t even do that. Something about how pathetic that was tickled him, it made him start laughing; he chuckled until he closed his eyes and couldn’t stop his strained emotions heading south. His laughter tailed into something else, his shoulders racked with three dry sobs before he grit his teeth, closed his eyes and growled loudly in frustration.
Everything felt so fucking hopeless. He didn’t think he’d felt this low before in his life.
He went to the corner of the cell and leant against the wall; the irritation of his circumstances felt agonizing and overwhelming, eventually it tired him out; he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
He craved an opiate induced nebulous to take him away from this. And it had nothing to do with the pain in his leg; it would be total escapism.
He thought about his term, he was about half way through now but his release date still seemed unreachable, and he suddenly felt sure he couldn’t do another three years in this place without seeing a friendly face; there was no way. When he got out of seg he’d have to call Cameron and sort things out.
He enjoyed his conversations with her. He wanted to listen to the mundane little details of her life because compared to his, they weren’t dull, they were the highlights of his fucking month.
She was also a safe sparring partner, she wouldn’t hurt him even if he hurt her. He’d hated that amiability about her before and had tried to toughen her up; he was glad now he hadn’t changed her too much. She had wised up without losing her integrity and that was a hard thing to achieve.
He thought about the letter that remained unopened, still. And the list that remained unwritten. The letter had been stared at, picked up and put back down, turned over carefully in his hands and he still couldn’t do it. It had come to represent the push and pull of his feelings over Wilson, and what he had done. It was as if opening it would concede something to him; if it did, it wasn’t something House wasn’t ready to give him.
He wondered it he should ask to leave protective custody for real; it was boring beyond belief, and cut off from the rest of the prison. The one thing it could offer that gen pop couldn’t, was safety. The last six months he’d felt safe; something he couldn’t say about his time here before that. Where he’d been before, you had to have eyes in the back of your head and keep them open twenty four hours a day, and even that didn’t stop shit from happening. But he didn’t feel safe here any longer.
A few hours later the door opened and Preedy came and stood in front of him. It had gone dark but there were no lights on yet.
“I leave you alone for half a day and all hell breaks loose,” he said quietly.
“I’d hardly call it that,” House said, remembering what had happened the last time he’d aimed a punch at one of Preedy’s guards, and hoping this time he’d be more forgiving.
Preedy loomed over him for a second and then bent down; he pulled him forward so he could un-cuff his hands.
“Well, I’ve got Steve’s version of events, do you want to give me yours?”
“I’d rather be down here,” House said candidly.
“No one would rather be down here,” Preedy replied, shaking his head.
“It’s against my human rights to leave me alone and restrained in a cell,” House noted tiredly, rubbing his wrists when his hands were free.
Preedy stood up straight again. “Want to make a complaint?” he said. It was not a challenge but more of a question.
“Would it do any good?” House replied sullenly, Preedy shrugged his shoulders.
“Steve said you were being hostile, said he told you to calm down but you wouldn’t.”
House snorted, he hadn’t resisted for one second once he’d known he was coming here instead of getting forced into that yard. “Steve was lying.”
Preedy took a step back from him, “So what’s your version of events?”
“Like you give a fuck if I have a version or not,” House said, looking away.
Preedy frowned at him, “Watch your language,” he said but it wasn’t a warning. House suspected he used the same tone with his kids, when he told them to behave or knock it off.
“It’s okay for you to cuss when you’re having a bad day, but not me? Even though I’m pretty sure my bad days are comparatively much worse than yours.”
Preedy’s hands went to his hips and he stared at the floor for a moment, “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want to know your side of things.”
“I took a swing at the guy, what else do you need to know?”
“Well, I’d like to know why?” Preedy said strongly. “There are inmates in here I wouldn’t turn my back on for two seconds, because god knows what they’d do given the chance.”
“You’re saying you trust me?” House said doubtfully.
“No, I don’t trust anyone in this building,” Preedy noted, “Except for me, but if I turned my back on you for a moment I don’t think I’d find a knife in it. You’re stubborn and sarcastic and you aggravate the hell out of pretty much everyone, but you’re not aggressive when you’re clear headed, and you don’t seem high right now, so?”
“He tried to put me in with Felix,” House admitted. “Like I said, I’d rather be down here.”
“I thought so,” Preedy said to himself. “Look, I know it must be hard for you, after what happened…”
“No you don’t,” House rejected. “You know nothing about it.” He was getting edgy and he was tired; his leg ached, his shoulders hurt. He just wanted to be left alone.
“I did tell my guys not to put you two in with each other. Now I know Steve was busy today, he must have forgotten. I’ll make it clearer to all of them at the next staff meeting,” Preedy promised, and House wondered why the guy gave a shit anyway. They didn’t like each other; what did he care?
“I took one swing at the guy, and it didn’t connect, I did it to get out of the situation,” House admitted quietly.
Preedy nodded, “Steve isn’t the best of liars, and he looked a bit jittery when I came on shift. I think he knew he’d screwed up.”
“Oh, he was having a bad day, that’s all right then,” House said sarcastically. “There are what? Eight of us up there, how hard is it to remember not to put one guy with another?”
Preedy didn’t respond to that, he looked at the floor again. House couldn’t tell if it was because he was ashamed of his subordinate of because he didn’t want to argue.
“House, I won’t let Felix get anywhere near you, I promise,” Preedy assured. “What happened today won’t happen again but that’s the best I can do. We can’t put you or him anywhere else. Now you can stay down here all week if you want, but you’ll still have to go back sometime. It might as well be now because I know you hate it down here. You need to try and put the guy out of your mind.”
“How do I do that when he taunts me every time he passes my cell?” House said bitterly.
Preedy thought about that for a moment, “That won’t happen any more.”
“Yeah, you’re going to shut him up; hasn’t worked with me.”
Preedy tilted his head at a slight angle, “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be,” he told House lowly. “You can go back, or stay here, it’s up to you.”
House thought about it, he did hate it down here. Slowly, he got to his feet and Preedy took him back to the block.
Author: snark-bait
Rating: Adult
Character/Paring: House/Cameron
Summary: House leaves prison after being convicted on drug offences, Cameron helps him readjust to his new life.
Spoilers: If you haven’t seen season 3 it's one big spoiler, but I'm going from 'Finding Judas' and just skipping very far ahead from there.
Disclaimer: All House Characters belong to Fox and David Shore.
Chapter: 8
Thanks to phineyj for the beta
Chapter eight
Allison Cameron felt worn out, even though she’d barely done a thing all day. She suspected it was probably more of a psychological tiredness because she was fretting about the choice Jack was forcing her to make; a choice that wasn’t really a choice. She was sitting at the table in the kitchen, slouched in her seat. The coffee that was inches from her hand remained untouched and had long gone cold.
Jack had given her an ultimatum. Although he’d made it seem like he’d left the ball in her court, there was only one solution to his problem. And didn’t he know it. Cameron was so annoyed with him she was on the fringes of hating him; it wasn’t going to take much more to put her over the edge.
She was worried about House and had been for weeks; life was going to be so difficult for him now. Adding Tritter’s sickening revelation in made everything ten times worse.
She didn’t know the details of what had happened to him, and she would probably never find out. But the snatches of conversation she’d heard and the look of humiliation on House’s face that had followed left her in no doubt that Tritter’s words had been true.
The thing that worried her most was that House wouldn’t have dealt with something like that in a healthy way. Knowing him, he would have taken any traumatic event and any emotion connected to it and pushed it down inside as far as it would go, holding it under the water until it drowned. But the body of evidence, the memories, would still be there.
She couldn’t imagine he’d have spoken to anyone about it, even if given the opportunity to. This was a man who felt physical pain when someone he loved left him, because he couldn’t admit he actually cared about them.
Not dealing with something as devastating as…that, could lead those painful emotions to bubble dangerously up at a later date, and if it ever did come to the surface, she was scared about what it would do to him.
Cameron was pulled from her thoughts by a sound she’d been dreading to hear since Jack had left - the click of the front door closing after House returned.
She looked at the clock on the wall - it was seven thirty. Danny had been put to bed half an hour earlier; she’d been sitting in the kitchen since then. As hard as it was going to be, she was going to have to ask House to leave.
“What up?” House said light-heartedly when he entered the kitchen.
This was horrible, she decided; how the hell was she supposed to do this? After last night and after what had happened on Friday. She could raise a smile only halfway; it felt like a thin uncomfortable line smeared across her face.
House began to unbutton his jacket, observing her as he did, “Jack outdid himself, huh?” he asked, sensing her mood.
“You could say that,” she replied, shifting to sit up in her seat. “We had a pretty volatile conversation.”
He quirked an eyebrow up, “You had like a real argument with someone? Shame I missed that,” he teased but the half smile it put on his face didn’t stay for long, because she didn’t mirror it back.
“It went a lot worse than I was expecting,” Cameron said seriously before looking away from him. “I need to ask you something.”
She didn’t like being forced into something she desperately didn’t want to do, but Daniel came first, regardless of how unpleasant this was.
“I’m really sorry, but, is there someplace else you could stay until you’ve found an apartment?”
House stopped unbuttoning his jacket; his slender fingers pausing on the last button, then to her surprise a half smile appeared on his face; she couldn’t work it out and certainly hadn’t been expecting that reaction.
“Why are you smiling?”
House undid the last button then shrugged off his jacket. “I found somewhere today.” He placed the jacket on the back of a chair and glanced away from her. “I know you need me out; I’m glad you’ve finally admitted that my being here is a problem,” he said.
“It was never a problem for me,” Cameron assured him.
House looked at her again, “But it was for Jack,” he replied.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “It was, and I’m really sorry.”
House pulled out a chair and sat opposite her, “Not your fault,” he said indifferently. “Anyway, I can see Jack’s point.”
Cameron seemed agitated by this, “He’s not doing it because of you or your past. He’s doing it because he wants to get at me.”
“And it’s worked,” House noted calmly. “But it’s not a problem; you should let him think it is though,” he added. “Let him think he’s got his way at a really big price, then use it to punish him for the rest of the year.”
Cameron couldn’t help but smile at that suggestion because it was a confident, arrogant approach to a shitty situation, and it reminded her of what House used to be like five years ago. The biggest difference between then and now, in her opinion, was confidence. He didn’t seem so sure of himself these days.
House leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his hand, “I’ll leave tomorrow, unless you need me out tonight?”
“No,” she shook her head, “tomorrow is fine.” She stared at a set of greasy fingerprints Daniel had left on the surface of the table, just to the right of House’s elbow. Dan had a habit of getting bored halfway through his meals and creating works of art with his food instead of eating it.
It was a shame it had to be this way because Cameron liked having House around; she liked seeing the interaction he had with Dan, because however awkward and inept House was with adults, he seemed to have a way with children; she suspected it was probably something to do with being on their wavelength.
And then she realized, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit: this was House, after all. He’d disappeared for the day and come back with the solution to her problem without really knowing what was going on. And he didn’t appear to be bothered that she’d gone ahead and asked him to leave, but then she never could tell with him, and the extra facial scruff made him even more unreadable these days.
“How did you manage to find a place so soon? Don’t you need references and stuff?”
“Nope, I had a Cuddy,” he replied. “The lady who owns the place is an old friend.”
“Well that was lucky, I’m so relieved you’ve already found somewhere,” Cameron said, and she meant it. She got out of her chair then and went over to the fridge, “I couldn't be bothered to cook tonight, so Dan and I had Chinese take-out. I saved you some; you hungry?”
“Sure,” House said, tapping his finger on the tabletop. He was looking off into the middle distance with a contemplative expression on his face; he’d been wearing that look a lot recently.
“Are you pissed at me?” Cameron asked while her back was turned to him.
“No,” he replied. “I’m just wondering if the kitchen at this new place has a smoke alarm,” he offered.
“Why?”
“Have you any idea how long it’s been since I cooked myself a meal?”
Cameron smiled and turned to face him again, “You cooked a lot before?” she asked, doubtfully. House thought about it.
“Good point,” he said, nodding. “Scrap the smoke alarm, I’ll just comb the area for take-aways and collect menus, I won’t even need to get cookware.”
“Or a dinner set,” she added. “Just get paper plates and put it all straight in the trash.”
He pointed at her and nodded. “Sounds good, that’ll save me even more money.”
They smiled at one another, and Cameron pulled a carton of noodles from the fridge.
She couldn’t believe how smoothly that had gone after all of the worrying she’d done today. And then the memory of the night before found her, unexpectedly. They’d spent far too long passing looks that meant a lot more than either would admit to; finally they’d kissed, and not only that, but he’d kissed her. She’d barely had time to process what had happened because of the conflict with Jack, but it made her even more upset that House was going.
She figured the day had been action packed enough without bringing it up, so she wasn’t even going to attempt it, but (not for the first time that day) she found herself loathing her ex-husband.
~
Cameron finished work early on Monday evening so she could drive House over to his new place. They went via Danny’s school, picked him up and then they stopped off at the lock up where the rest of House’s stuff was being stored.
There were more boxes than he’d been expecting, surprisingly even some furniture; there was an old leather chair, a coffee table and a few other things. It wasn’t much but it would do for now. He’d need to hire someone with a removal van to pick most of it up.
Cameron had mentioned that she and Cuddy had boxed most of the stuff when House’s place had been sold; he could vaguely remember agreeing to it via his lawyer after Cuddy offered. He suspected now, looking at what had been saved, that Wilson might have been involved as well. There were personal things here that only Wilson would have known were worth keeping; stuff with sentimental rather than monetary value. House did a mental shrug and decided to come back to that later.
He opened a box stored right at the back to see what was in it and noticed that folded on top of a stack of books was his old bike jacket. He reached in and took it out, flapping it up and down to get some of the dust off that had managed to get through a slight gap in the top of the box. He’d forgotten all about it. Stuff he’d forgotten about long ago hit him; stupid insignificant memories.
He took off the jacket he was wearing and put the old one on; it still fit, it was maybe a little loose but he’d get away with it.
“Wow, that brings back memories,” Cameron said, stopping to observe him when she came back in. He took it off quickly, feeling self conscious but not sure why. He made sure it was in one of the boxes they were taking though.
They took the boxes with the records and CDs in, and his old record player. Cameron had given him the TV from her bedroom, claiming she never used it anyway. He assumed she was concerned he’d be raising veins the moment she left him alone if he had nothing to occupy him.
“There’s no furniture,” Cameron noted worriedly, when he showed her into the bare living room of his new apartment.
“In here,” he agreed. “But there is in the bedroom, and the kitchen. It’ll be fine: I’m a big boy now.”
Daniel ran in after checking out the yard and declared, “I’m hungry,” loudly, before spinning around in the centre of the room.
“We’re going in a minute, Dan, can you wait five minutes?” Cameron said.
“Just five minutes?” he asked seriously; she nodded. “Okay,” he said valiantly.
They emptied Cameron’s car of House’s things; Dan insisted on carrying a small box of CDs and managed to drop them all over the floor.
“You suck at this,” House told him light-heartedly. “How about you stick to the spinning and the running?” he told him as Cameron retrieved the CDs from the floor with a sheepish look on her face.
“We should probably get out of here before he trashes all of your stuff,” Cameron said apologetically.
House went over to the window and looked out into the yard. “What do you think?” He asked.
“I like it.” He heard her shoes click against the hardwood floor as she stepped a few paces closer. “I think you’d get a piano in that corner, no problem,” she finished.
He shot her a brief look before shrugging and staring outside again, “Maybe, but pianos cost money,” he said thoughtfully.
“When are you starting back at work?” she asked then.
“Wednesday,” House replied, wondering what color to paint the living room. He didn’t really give a crap if he was honest, but he needed to tackle it sooner rather than later so he could get some furniture in here. The landlady had offered to get someone to do it before he moved in, explaining she’d wanted to get it done before a new tenant arrived, but because he needed somewhere as soon as possible he’d offered to do it himself.
“Okay, I’ll make sure I’m free Wednesday morning,” Cameron said seriously.
He turned to look at her, “Why?”
“Cuddy asked me to show you how to use some of the new equipment in the lab,” she admitted.
“You mean Cuddy wants you to baby-sit me?” he said disagreeably.
“No, of course not. The whole of the research lab has just been refitted; she just thought you’d prefer I show you how to use the new equipment instead of Paul.”
“Who’s Paul?” House asked warily.
“Head of Research, he’s really good at his job,” she assured him. “He’s just a little strange,” she then added cautiously.
House felt like there was something he wasn’t being told here. No one to answer to but Cuddy, yeah right, he thought bitterly. Cameron seemed to pick on his worries.
‘I think you’ll be with Paul just while you get your bearings. And there is plenty of cool equipment down there for you to blow up; I’m sure it won’t be as boring as you’re worried it will be,” she said lightly.
“Yeah I get it: I should be thankful she’s giving me a job, noted,” he said grumpily. He was grateful but it didn’t lessen the way he felt about having to take the position because he didn’t have another option. He consoled himself with the inner mantra of, ‘For the moment.’
Once life had settled down into a new routine, he could look at the alternatives; he didn’t have to stay there forever if it wasn’t right for him. Cameron didn’t try and continue the line of conversation.
“Do you want me to pick you up on Wednesday morning?”
House looked at the paved yard and wondered if he’d get a bike parked on it. “All right,” he said quietly.
~
When Cameron left he ordered a pizza with everything on it and ate the whole thing; his appetite for junk food had returned. When he’d finished he stood in the living room, the evidence of his life before prison neatly packed in boxes around him. He decided he didn’t want to unpack yet; there was no point until he’d painted the living room.
He’d foolishly mentioned to Cameron he was going to do it at the weekend, and she’d (insisted) volunteered to help; it was probably going to look worse than it already did once they’d attacked it with paint and gloss. But it was worth having a go himself before getting professionals in to do it; he had to be careful with his money for now. He wasn’t sure where he’d be a year from now, or what he’d be doing. So, he was going to play it safe with the funds he had.
He set the record player up in his room and sorted the bed out. Then, he stretched out on the bed watching some crap he wasn’t really following; it seemed like a shitty Australian soap. He decided to mute the sound and put on a Led Zeppelin record, aiming to drown out every thought on his mind and get lost in some rock music.
One hand was clamped to his thigh and the other was behind his pillow, every now and again he’d massage the muscle carefully, always trying and always failing to ease the ache there. Moving the heavier boxes into the apartment probably hadn’t helped.
His leg was a relentless distraction he couldn’t dull anymore, and with strong pain medication off the table forever now, he wondered if anything else could offer the reprieve from pain Vicodin once had, or was this it? Not necessarily, because he had options now, and they worried him a little.
There were all sorts of things he could get his hands on if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, but the persistent ache wore him out; to have an alternative not to feel this way was always going to be tempting. He was always going to crave opiates to some extent, not just because he liked feeing high but because he liked being pain free.
There were two sides to every story and that was his.
He knew he had to try and stick it out with the crappy over the counter shit for now, and continue with the rehab he’d started in prison, even though it wiped him. It had made his leg stronger than it had been before.
He closed his eyes and wondered if Jimmy Page had really traded his soul to the dark side to become one of the greatest guitarists ever. Pretty unlikely, seeing as the Devil didn’t exist but House liked the concept that such talent couldn’t be gained through practice; bargains had to be made with Lucifer for riffs and licks like this. He wondered if that’s what he’d been doing after the infarction; trading everything in so he could keep going, keep offering up his talent until he had to pay.
He wasn’t looking forward to Wednesday. He figured he should feel happier about the whole thing because he’d be able to occupy himself and keep busy. But working at the hospital meant seeing Wilson again. Did he try and speak to him or did he avoid the whole issue? Because they were bound to bump into each other at some point, it was a given.
He wasn’t sure what to do; he was still pretty torn on the issue.
In his life he’d been betrayed, effectively, by people he had no respect for and he’d always maintained that people couldn’t be disloyal to him, if he didn’t value their loyalty in the first place. To react like it was a bolt from the blue when people acted like humans do was naive and idiotic, and it had been one of the traits that had grated on him most about Cameron when she’d started working for him. Her surprise at finding that good people were more than capable of doing nasty things was something he’d wanted to break her of. He’d never come across anyone so surprised by human nature.
But even he’d been surprised by the events leading up to his incarceration. Some people would do anything to get what they wanted, all it depended on was how far they were willing to go to get it.
House had often struggled to work out what exactly had happened, specifically. Had it been his foolishness and underestimation of Tritter that was to blame or had Wilson’s involvement sealed the deal on the whole thing? On top of that, how much had human nature factored into it? Who’d been doing what to get their way? And what was the motivation behind it?
He could still remember how he’d felt that day; how shocked he’d been when Wilson had taken the stand on the day of his trial. Tritter had told him they didn’t even need Wilson’s testimony, but he’d gone and done the deed anyway, completely sealing House’s fate.
He’d considered that Wilson had reached his limit because of a punch and a forged prescription; he’d even considered that Wilson had just wanted to teach him a lesson. One thing he was sure of was that he hadn’t known his friend as well as he thought he did.
It wasn’t until very recently that House had considered that maybe his friend had tried to help him out any way he could in a desperate situation and House had thrown it all back in his face, leaving Wilson with no option other than to go along with what he’d agreed to do after things had backfired.
It was over now and most of it wasn’t worth dwelling on; all House needed to work out was where that left things with Wilson.
~
House woke early on Wednesday morning and took a long shower to try and clear his mind of all the niggling little worries he had about going back to the hospital.
He observed himself in the mirror afterwards; he’d finally shaved off the beard, but left some scruff. Not because that was a particular look he wanted to reclaim, but because it hid a thin scar that followed the slant of his jaw line on the right. His jaw had been fractured in three places the first time he’d had his ass kicked in prison. He didn’t like to see it because it reminded him of how fucked up things had been at first. Although he would concede that the scar was in exactly the right place, because it had been his mouth that had gotten him into trouble, as usual.
House wasn’t entirely sure what to wear, or more to the point, what he’d get away with. There was one very clear fact about going back and that was he wasn’t going to be an asset to the hospital any more. Anyone could do the job he was going to be doing, so Cuddy had way more reason to fire him if he became difficult over things he used to get away easily with. So, reluctantly, he’d purchased a dark blue tie to go with the black blazer and pale blue shirt he’d bought the previous day.
He went into the bedroom and got dressed, leaving the tie off; he still wasn’t entirely sure he could bring himself to put it on.
He finished the outfit with a pair of jeans and decided he was pushing it with his Nikes, but after being forced to wear uncomfortable prison issue boots for so long, he really didn’t want to wear anything else and decided to try and get away with it.
He had a cup of coffee and then went back into his bedroom, where he picked up the tie and held it in his hands for a few moments, and then, grudgingly, he pulled the collar of his shirt up and put it on. When he was finished he looked at himself in the mirror. The fact that he looked smart didn’t make him feel good, like it probably did most people, it made him feel like crap; it was forced, and it wasn’t him.
Cameron arrived ten minutes early but he was ready any way. She smiled warmly at him when he pulled the front door open, “You look really nice,” she observed.
“Great,” he returned gruffly; he didn’t agree. The shirt itched, the tie was already annoying and he did not feel confident about the day ahead. He turned to lock his door and then recommended they leave with an uncomfortable, “Let’s go.”
The morning air was fresh but cold, it had stopped raining at least: that was about the only good thing about the day ahead.
~
It was very strange to be back in the hospital again, House decided. The place was busy already and anxiety had hit him, similar to the the way he’d felt at the mall. Being back here gave him mixed feelings and he was glad he hadn’t eaten anything yet, because he felt queasy with nerves.
They avoided Cuddy’s office at House’s request, and headed for the basement where the research department was located.
Cameron had been right: technology had moved on and House needed some of the equipment and settings explaining to him. About half an hour after they got there, Paul had arrived - he was quite possibly the dullest human alive. Cameron hadn’t stayed long after that; she’d been lucky enough to get paged, made her apologies and left.
Paul had taken over then, and House had suppressed the urge to check the guy’s pulse when he’d been going through the work schedule with him. Everything about him was dull, his clothes, his tone…his face.
House had picked up on the discomfort in the other man’s body language instantly. He was clearly nervous. It wasn’t a total surprise, really; House had already had quite a reputation before being busted for drug abuse. This made him wonder if Cuddy had offered the guy a pay rise to put up with him, because it was generally seen that Leopards didn’t change their spots.
Unsurprisingly, what Paul was expecting him to do and what Cuddy had told him he’d be doing were completely different things. Cuddy had sold him the research position on the principle that he’d be working on his own projects, not passaging confluent cancer cells for the in-vitro study Paul was working on. He couldn’t be the guy’s flunky for much longer, if he made it to the end of the week he’d be surprised and bearing in mind that tomorrow was Thursday, things were looking pretty dire.
House suspected it was a bad sign that he loathed his new job already; he was only four hours into it. The lab was too bright and too warm, and not only did he have to wear a white coat, but glasses and gloves to match. He’d initially refused to wear any gear but Paul had just gone on and on and on until House had done it just to shut him up, he was like an alarm clock at four in the morning with no snooze button. It was uncomfortable and boring enough without the guy’s monotonous drone making him want to smash up test tubes so he could stick the broken shards in his eyes, just so he had an excuse to leave the room.
He’d had quite enough of the speeches about how it was more than just flasks and incubators that were needed to proliferate cells successfully, in his opinion a little bit of love was needed too. The guy was way too into his bacteria and micro organisms for comfort.
Working in a different department and doing basically lab technician work left House feeling slightly displaced. It felt familiar to be here but strange at the same time; he was beginning to tire of the sensation.
He escaped for an early lunch, not because he was particularly hungry but to get away from Paul. The man had issued nasal threats about the consequences of leaving early, just as the door had been shutting behind House, but he would have been moved to violence if he’d stayed and listened to the man one minute longer.
He was on the second floor now, up with the real people, leaning against the wall at the end of a busy corridor; the white stick of a red lollipop sticking out of his mouth. He was trying to find the bravery to knock on the door at the end. It was hard enough to visualize the action, let alone actually going ahead and doing it.
Cameron had not-so-subtly mentioned that Wilson had moved offices again, before providing the details of exactly where to find it. House hadn’t asked her for that information, but he supposed someone had to break the ice. He didn’t want to bump into him at the cafeteria or in the parking lot. He was taking control back of his life; if this was going to happen, it was going to be on his terms.
A mixture of patients, busy doctors and stressed nurses passed by him and not one of them gave him a second look. And why would they? They had no idea how monumentally hard this was going to be for him.
When House had first gone to prison he’d convinced himself this day would never come, that he wouldn’t speak to Wilson ever again. A mess of angry, hurt feelings had compelled him to feel that certain about it.
But never, ever again was a long time.
His feelings had changed over time; circumstances had conspired to deliver him to this point. The closer he’d got to being released from prison, the more his view of things had altered.
House moved out of the way so an orderly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair could get past him. He was standing in the centre of the corridor now, feeling a little lost and probably looking that way too, which made him feel stupid. Do it or don’t do it, but do something, he chided himself.
So he headed for Wilson’s office.
He tried to recall how it felt to just boldly walk in there uninvited, the way he used to, and then he wondered what had been going through his mind back then. That he could walk into that room, any room and demand that everyone stop what they were doing and listen to what he had to say.
House stopped half way along and put the candy he'd been sucking in the trash, it was just making him feel sick now. He almost turned back and headed downstairs, back to the lab. He still wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do. No, he’d come this far: water, bridges and all that crap, he had to get it out of the way. He reached the door and held his hand up. With his fist clenched and hovering just in front of ‘James Wilson MD’ on the door, he remembered he hadn’t always bothered to knock before. Sometimes he’d just barge in so he could rip into conversation.
‘I’m here, so stop the press and listen to me because this is important.’
And people had stopped, and people had listened.
He couldn’t do that now, barge in, trying to pretend like the events of five and a bit years hadn’t happened, or simply didn’t matter. That would take a level of arrogance he hadn’t retained, and it would be a misguided approach to what he was trying to achieve.
Which was? Nope, he still wasn’t entirely sure.
His heart was in his throat, he knew that much. He swallowed a few times, absently tapping his cane against the floor as he tried to find the courage he needed to go through with this. He swallowed one more time and then knocked on the door.
“Come in,” came the soft, easy reply. House froze at the sound, briefly, but then decided he’d rather go in than have Wilson pull open the door to find him stuck between advance and retreat.
He did have one very good reason to be here; he’d lead with that and see where it got him; he’d been over his own wrongs on many occasions and he’d had a lot of time to think them through. He’d trailed back along the path that had lead him to a jail cell once or twice, ticking off Wilson’s various breaking points as he went.
He had to do this; it was far too long in coming. He reached for the handle, turned it and opened the door; it swung inward but he remained in the doorway.
Wilson was leaning over his desk, searching through a stack of files, he glanced distractedly over and then the frustration at whatever he’d lost fell away and he was all surprise.
“Hey,” House volunteered awkwardly.
Wilson, still stooping over his desk quickly straightened up, whatever he was looking for no longer a concern.
“House,” he said quietly. “Hey.”
The first thing House noticed was how much older Wilson looked. For some reason he hadn’t thought about it - the way he was going to look. He’d put on a little weight; not much. The son-of-a-bitch hadn’t lost any more hair though, House noted to himself wryly. It didn’t look grey either, and House suspected Wilson had been hitting the ‘Just for men’ hard.
But Wilson looked exhausted; his eyes were red rimmed. He was as close as House had ever seen to scruffy: a day’s stubble on his face and his tie loosened already; it wasn’t even midday yet and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. House gathered Cameron had mentioned he was returning today, and wondered if Wilson had gotten about as much sleep as he’d had the night before, which was very little.
They stood silently for a few moments, both unsure of what to say. Wilson still looked surprised; House leaned against the door frame and tapped his cane on the floor.
“I heard about the job; it’s good news, I’m glad you came back,” Wilson offered gently.
House nodded, a semi-frown of deliberation forming, “It was either that or Burger King; not a tough choice.”
He shot a quick look at him and was relieved when a weak smile appeared on Wilson’s face, it was gone quickly enough but it comforted him all the same. It signaled a sliver of hope that one day, perhaps they could get back what somebody else had stolen from them. That maybe a fraction of what had existed between them could be reclaimed
“How’s it going so far, do you like it?” Wilson asked.
House nodded a few times, then blew out some air from puffed cheeks as it turned into a shake of the head, “Not really,” he admitted.
“You’re sure about that after half a day?” Wilson enquired, but it was delivered very cautiously, like he had no idea what he could and couldn’t say to him now.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Paul’s a little…” Wilson stopped and thought about his words, his head jutted to the side slightly, “…Weird, but he’s harmless.”
“So people keep telling me, and yet his voice is encouraging me to harm myself.”
Wilson found a knowing little smile and placed his hands on his hips.
House dropped his focus to the floor. He was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotions he hadn’t been expecting to feel; there were all kinds of memories and feelings that were flooding back now he was actually in the same room as Wilson.
On the harsher nights in prison, when he’d been confined to a solitary cell for some feeble misdemeanor, there had been occasions he’d been unable to think of anyone else. Even though he’d been angry with him, he’d still missed Wilson a great deal. There had been such guilty, conflicting emotions raging within - ones that came from hating someone as much as he missed them.
The anger had diffused over time; House suspected particles of it remained in various cells and yards in that Jersey prison. Something that strong didn’t just die, but it wasn’t inside of him any longer, thankfully.
There was only disappointment left; their friendship had been a casualty of Michael Tritter’s vendetta against him. The thing they’d had between them - that exclusive, personal understanding, that had been so different to anything House had ever felt before, was gone. It was obvious now he’d lost something irreplaceable, and it made him wish he hadn’t taken Wilson for granted..
Silence had crammed the space between them again, almost like a respectful acknowledgement of the loss of that intangible bond.
“It’s really good to see you,” Wilson said eventually, an obvious sadness in his voice.
“Yeah,” House replied hesitantly, not sure if that was an agreement, “I came up here for a reason, actually.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, he stood up straight and held it toward Wilson without looking at him.
“What’s this?” Wilson asked.
“It’s a list of names,” House said, smoothing his thumb over his chin, “Of the people I’ve wronged,” he explained.
Wilson unfolded the sheet and read it, and then he looked at him again. “There’s only one name here,” he noted, looking puzzled.
“Only one person I cared to apologize to,” House said uneasily. “I am sorry about what happened,” he said, leaning against the doorframe again.
Wilson stared silently at him for a moment, like he was trying to work out what the hell was going on. “I thought you were mad at me,” he said eventually.
“I was,” House admitted while looking at the floor, “For a while; it took some time to see the bigger picture. I only have myself to blame for what happened.”
Wilson dropped the piece of paper onto his desk, “How is everything going?”
“Okay,” House said as positively as he could; the word felt like a lie to him, but it carried on the wind convincingly. “There’s a lot of stuff I need to sort out; it’s going to take time for me,” he cleared his throat. “It’s going to take time for me…to adjust.”
“I understand,” Wilson said. “Cameron mentioned that you were off the drugs now?”
Those words seemed clumsy to House and Wilson’s expression that followed the words apologized for them.
“Yeah,” House said.
“Well done,” Wilson volunteered awkwardly.
That didn’t sound right either; neither of them it seemed was happy with that sitting in the air.
“I should go,” House said. “I ah, I’m sorry Cameron involved you the other night too,” he added carefully, “She shouldn’t have called you.”
“No, I’m glad she did,” Wilson returned. “It wasn’t a problem.”
House nodded, and then went to leave. Wilson stared at the piece of paper again for a moment.
“Can we talk again, at some point?” Wilson asked, hesitantly.
House shrugged, “Don’t see why not.”
“Because,” Wilson continued, “You obviously read the letter?”
House stopped then and shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”
He turned to face him; Wilson had a perplexed expression on his face, “So you don’t know?”
“Know what?” House returned. He was starting to feel puzzled himself.
“What happened,” Wilson said slowly.
House thought about it, “What happened is you testified against me, and I ended up in prison; what else is there to know?”
His words came quickly, like a rush of blood to the head and sounded much too bitter. He hadn’t come here for that sort of a conversation. Wilson looked instantly hurt and his hand went to his neck, before he glanced away.
“But you came here anyway?” Wilson said, more to himself than to House.
What else was there to add? Wilson had made Tritter’s case airtight. With the forged Oxy prescription and Wilson’s testimony, House had been a sitting duck. What else was there to explain?
“I’m gonna go,” House said, getting uncomfortable about where things were heading.
“All right, but I don’t suppose you still have it, the letter?” Wilson questioned.
It had been with him now for two and a half years, “Maybe,” House said, shrugging like he wasn’t sure, like he didn’t know it was sitting on the desk in his room at home.
“You should read it,” Wilson encouraged him, softly.
House didn’t reply. He left the room and closed the door behind him.
~
“I’d rather sit in a room and constantly stick a pin in my eye, than go back down and listen to that guy,” House said gloomily as he pushed his cold, untouched lunch around his plate, as they sat in the cafeteria.
“He’s not that bad,” Cameron said, smiling.
“Oh, he is, you weren’t joking about the humor lobotomy.”
One of Cameron’s colleagues came over; House didn’t look up or acknowledge the guy. He was too busy brooding. The reality was his dour mood had come from seeing Wilson. He wasn’t sure how he felt about things, and because he felt ill at ease, he hadn’t mentioned anything to Cameron.
“I’m sorry to bother you at lunch, Dr Cameron,” her colleague said politely, shooting House a very obvious look.
“It’s okay, Howard,” Cameron replied, “What’s wrong?”
“We just got the labs back on our patient, and I wanted to ask…” he stopped talking then but House was lost in the thought of how many staples it would take to clamp Paul’s mouth closed. Eventually he realized Howard had stopped talking and was now watching him. House glanced over at Cameron, then back at the kid.
“What?” House said grumpily.
“You’re Dr House, aren’t you?” he said diffidently, and then he let out a slight laugh of embarrassment.
“Just House,” he replied uncomfortably, and then he shot another look at Cameron, who was way ahead of him and already had her ‘Be nice’ face on.
“I’m sorry. It’s just in college-” he stopped, laughed again and looked away, “You’re a legend.”
“You can just leave me the file, I’ll be up straight after lunch,” Cameron said. It was a polite way of saying ‘I’d leave now, before you are mortally wounded with a spork.’
Howard did as asked; he gave her the file, then left, grinning to himself and shooting them fleeting glances as he went.
“That guy works with you? Like, curing people that are gravely ill?” House said doubtfully. “I’m surprised he can tie his own shoelaces.”
“Because he thinks you’re cool; why is that a bad thing?” Cameron asked, and then added, “Actually if he thinks you’re cool, then that must make me cool by association.”
House shook his head, “No, you laughed at one of Paul’s joke attempts this morning; you can never be cool now.”
“I was being polite,” she defended herself, spearing some salad with her fork.
House lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head to suggest he wasn’t buying it, “No, you chuckled then held your belly; you were amused,” he said flatly.
~
Two years earlier
Two months had passed since Cameron’s last visit and House hadn’t spoken to her once in that time. He hadn’t put in any visiting requests or called either. Of course Cameron being Cameron, she’d written, apologized profusely for any upset she might have caused him and taken full blame for the argument, before urging him to put in a request so they could talk things through.
He hadn’t. He wanted to, he missed talking to her; in fact if he was honest he just flat out missed her. But it still wasn’t a good idea for her to visit, her feelings for him were flawed and she needed to realize that.
Preedy was an hour late escorting him to the yard and House was too wrapped up in his thoughts to ask why. “How come Dr Cameron hasn’t come to visit again this month?” he asked as they walked. Curiosity, as usual had got the better of him.
“None of your business,” House returned, giving Preedy a look that said he did not want to talk about it. Preedy thought about his options, and decided to keep silent.
There had always been an intangible sort of chemistry between him and Cameron, even though he’d tried to make it seem as one sided as he possibly could. In the beginning it really had been one sided. Fair enough, he’d been attracted to her on a physical level; he was many kinds of bastard, so not above taking advantage of her crush on him to get laid, but he just hadn’t wanted the mess that would have created. So he hadn’t pursued it. He’d played on it once or twice, because he could, but had never taken it seriously.
His damaged personality was the only thing she found attractive about him; that was her thing, what else could it be? He wasn’t physically attractive, not by comparison to her. He was a complete asshole to everyone he met. Once or twice he’d courted dangerous little thoughts of, ‘Maybe when her fellowship is over’ before shaking his head and pushing such whimsical ideas from his mind. The bottom line had always been her feelings ran deeper than his.
And then the shit had really hit the fan: Tritter had come, seen, kicked his ass, and he’d ended up here.
And little by little, she’d grown on him.
The dynamics of their relationship had changed dramatically, and she’d changed, and what came with that realization were new feelings. He’d never discussed it with her but the visits had filled a huge void in his life; he’d gone from grudgingly letting her come, to enjoying the visits a bit, and he’d ended up really looking forward to them.
He’d been aware that the way he felt about her was shifting, but it had never seemed important, because of her unavailability. She was married, had a son; it didn’t matter how he felt now because she obviously wouldn’t feel the same way, after all this time (not to mention the small detail that he was in prison.)
So her surprising admission had shocked and worried him; he couldn’t be responsible for any more screw-ups and damage in the lives of the people he knew. (People he cared about?)
House was miles away, lost in thought and was a full step into the yard before he noticed who else was already in there; when he looked up his heart didn’t just skip a beat, it seemed to seize like a water pipe at minus temperature. He stopped so abruptly that Preedy bumped into him.
“Careful,” he said, pushing House away from him, gently.
Anthony Felix was standing in the middle of the yard poised to take a shot at the net; he stopped when he saw him and then grinned. House was so shocked to see him, Preedy almost had the gate locked behind him. He turned and dodged abruptly back out before Preedy could pull it shut, wincing when the nerves in his leg constricted painfully. He stood nervously behind him.
House felt physically sick; he hadn’t seen the man in the yard since the day he’d been admitted to the medical wing. The last real memory he had of Felix, (one that he hadn’t been desperately blocking out) was of the man grabbing him roughly and marching him toward the gym, Marquez and two other people with him ensuring escape was futile. House could still remember the noxious threats he'd whispered in his ear of what would happen, if he didn’t keep quiet.
“I’m not going in there,” House said tensely.
Preedy glanced in at Felix then back at House, “What’s gotten into you?”
“I thought protective custody was supposed to…” he began to explain and then he stopped, remembering that he’d never named names, and wasn’t about to; even with the nature of the attack, it wasn’t the done thing.
Preedy observed him quietly for a moment, until something somewhere clicked into place and he pulled the gate shut, by which time House had backed right up to the wall opposite the gate.
Preedy went over to him, “I thought you said you never saw who attacked you,” he said softly. So it had clicked; House was so glad they were on the same page without him having to explain any further.
He looked away; it made no difference what he’d said at the time, everyone knew what had happened and who was responsible. “I’m not going in there,” he said firmly and he meant it, if Preedy tried to make him he’d resist. He didn’t give a crap if he pissed Preedy off or not. He shot a quick, uncomfortable look at him, “Please,” he appealed, almost inaudibly.
Preedy thought about it for a moment, “All right,” he said then calmly, before scratching his chin, “But you’ll have to go back to your cell.”
That was more than okay with House.
~
House was white as a sheet when he arrived back. He went straight to the toilet and dry heaved but nothing came up. He leant forward against the wall and closed his eyes. He’d never felt so physically affected by someone else’s presence in all of his life, not even his father, and he’d been a pretty formidable force to be reckoned with.
“Are you all right?” Preedy asked seriously. House had hardly been aware of him standing just outside. He was too caught up in trying to stop it all coming back, and fighting a losing battle.
He wiped a hand down his face, “What’s he doing up here?” he asked; his voice sounded strange to him…scared.
“There was a messy fight in general population over the weekend; he ratted to Redfield about something Marquez did. I think some of the guys from his crew tried to,” Preedy waved a hand in front of his neck in a cutting motion; “He asked to come here.”
That didn’t make any sense to House; Felix and Marquez had been very tight. Ratting on someone you were that close to in this environment…it just didn’t add up; it didn’t make sense because Felix wasn’t that stupid. It wouldn’t just be his life on the inside that would be affected; they were from the same neighborhood. Ratting on Marquez would be suicidal for him.
House didn’t buy it for one minute, he thought as he sat down on his bed.
“He’s got an agenda,” he said anxiously, distressed that he knew exactly what the guy’s motivation for being here was, him. What he could not understand, was why they still felt like he was worth going for, after what had happened.
~
The weeks that followed, House ranked as being some of the worst time he’d served. It had become clear that not having to see any of them again, after what had happened, had enabled him to live in a comfy pocket of denial, helping him to pretend that it never had actually happened. Felix’s presence was a stark, cold reminder that it had.
“How you doing House?” he’d say, in a smug, contented tone when he passed his cell in the mornings when Preedy escorted him to the shower block. House always ignored him.
And it went on that way, the same every day; the guy made like they were old buddies and tried to chat to him. It was starting to get to him.
Felix would start before he reached his cell - House could always hear him before he saw him - saying things like “You’re so quiet these days, and you used to have such a big mouth.” It continued until he woke up dreading the impending heckling.
House knew he shouldn’t let it get to him because it made him look weak, but seeing him threw up so much inside it was obvious to House he really hadn’t dealt with any of it and didn’t want to.
When he’d arrived on this block he’d just moved on. He’d been in a bad fight, pissed off the wrong people and it was over, that was it, nothing more to think about. Case closed.
“There’s nothing I can do about him being here, you’re just going to have to get used to it.” Preedy said to him early one morning.
House didn’t think he could just get used to it, “I’m fine,” he replied, not staring at the man.
“Yeah, you’re fine,” Preedy returned doubtfully. “You haven’t said a word to anyone in two weeks; everything is great.”
House took a deep angry breath; he was so sick of people talking at him, people who didn’t know him, people who thought they did but had no fucking idea what he’d been through.
“Well, how would you react, trapped in the same space as someone,” he stopped again. He wasn’t going to acknowledge it.
“You said…”
“We both know what I said means nothing,” House spat irritably. He was snapping at the wrong person, he knew that but who else could he snap at? “I want to go back to general population, I might as well now,” he finished.
Preedy seemed surprised by this, “Don’t be stupid, House, at least here he can’t get anywhere near you, you know it’s not like that over there.”
~
He’d known it was going to happen. He’d stayed awake and worried about it. And it happened when Preedy wasn’t in, before his shift started. A couple of the younger officers were struggling in his absence; they always doubled prisoners up if they were busy when it came to exercise time. An officer tried to put him into the yard, again when Felix was already there.
House had refused, and calmly asked to go back to his cell but the officer had insisted, so he’d refused some more until the officer had tried to forcibly put him in the room. He’d had no choice but to take a poorly aimed swing at the man (one a blind man would have seen coming a mile off). It didn’t connect but it did the trick; he found himself face down on the floor with the guy’s knee in his back as he cuffed him.
Then he was marched down to segregation .He didn’t care because that had been the plan. Anything was better than being locked in a confined space with that man. He’d gladly stay in segregation. The guard threatened him with a week and House had insolently told him to make it two.
He felt compelled to pound on the door as it was locked, like everyone else did once they’d been dumped in here, just to release some of the antagonistic feelings inside, but with his hands cuffed behind his back and his bum leg he couldn’t even do that. Something about how pathetic that was tickled him, it made him start laughing; he chuckled until he closed his eyes and couldn’t stop his strained emotions heading south. His laughter tailed into something else, his shoulders racked with three dry sobs before he grit his teeth, closed his eyes and growled loudly in frustration.
Everything felt so fucking hopeless. He didn’t think he’d felt this low before in his life.
He went to the corner of the cell and leant against the wall; the irritation of his circumstances felt agonizing and overwhelming, eventually it tired him out; he slid down the wall and sat on the floor.
He craved an opiate induced nebulous to take him away from this. And it had nothing to do with the pain in his leg; it would be total escapism.
He thought about his term, he was about half way through now but his release date still seemed unreachable, and he suddenly felt sure he couldn’t do another three years in this place without seeing a friendly face; there was no way. When he got out of seg he’d have to call Cameron and sort things out.
He enjoyed his conversations with her. He wanted to listen to the mundane little details of her life because compared to his, they weren’t dull, they were the highlights of his fucking month.
She was also a safe sparring partner, she wouldn’t hurt him even if he hurt her. He’d hated that amiability about her before and had tried to toughen her up; he was glad now he hadn’t changed her too much. She had wised up without losing her integrity and that was a hard thing to achieve.
He thought about the letter that remained unopened, still. And the list that remained unwritten. The letter had been stared at, picked up and put back down, turned over carefully in his hands and he still couldn’t do it. It had come to represent the push and pull of his feelings over Wilson, and what he had done. It was as if opening it would concede something to him; if it did, it wasn’t something House wasn’t ready to give him.
He wondered it he should ask to leave protective custody for real; it was boring beyond belief, and cut off from the rest of the prison. The one thing it could offer that gen pop couldn’t, was safety. The last six months he’d felt safe; something he couldn’t say about his time here before that. Where he’d been before, you had to have eyes in the back of your head and keep them open twenty four hours a day, and even that didn’t stop shit from happening. But he didn’t feel safe here any longer.
A few hours later the door opened and Preedy came and stood in front of him. It had gone dark but there were no lights on yet.
“I leave you alone for half a day and all hell breaks loose,” he said quietly.
“I’d hardly call it that,” House said, remembering what had happened the last time he’d aimed a punch at one of Preedy’s guards, and hoping this time he’d be more forgiving.
Preedy loomed over him for a second and then bent down; he pulled him forward so he could un-cuff his hands.
“Well, I’ve got Steve’s version of events, do you want to give me yours?”
“I’d rather be down here,” House said candidly.
“No one would rather be down here,” Preedy replied, shaking his head.
“It’s against my human rights to leave me alone and restrained in a cell,” House noted tiredly, rubbing his wrists when his hands were free.
Preedy stood up straight again. “Want to make a complaint?” he said. It was not a challenge but more of a question.
“Would it do any good?” House replied sullenly, Preedy shrugged his shoulders.
“Steve said you were being hostile, said he told you to calm down but you wouldn’t.”
House snorted, he hadn’t resisted for one second once he’d known he was coming here instead of getting forced into that yard. “Steve was lying.”
Preedy took a step back from him, “So what’s your version of events?”
“Like you give a fuck if I have a version or not,” House said, looking away.
Preedy frowned at him, “Watch your language,” he said but it wasn’t a warning. House suspected he used the same tone with his kids, when he told them to behave or knock it off.
“It’s okay for you to cuss when you’re having a bad day, but not me? Even though I’m pretty sure my bad days are comparatively much worse than yours.”
Preedy’s hands went to his hips and he stared at the floor for a moment, “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want to know your side of things.”
“I took a swing at the guy, what else do you need to know?”
“Well, I’d like to know why?” Preedy said strongly. “There are inmates in here I wouldn’t turn my back on for two seconds, because god knows what they’d do given the chance.”
“You’re saying you trust me?” House said doubtfully.
“No, I don’t trust anyone in this building,” Preedy noted, “Except for me, but if I turned my back on you for a moment I don’t think I’d find a knife in it. You’re stubborn and sarcastic and you aggravate the hell out of pretty much everyone, but you’re not aggressive when you’re clear headed, and you don’t seem high right now, so?”
“He tried to put me in with Felix,” House admitted. “Like I said, I’d rather be down here.”
“I thought so,” Preedy said to himself. “Look, I know it must be hard for you, after what happened…”
“No you don’t,” House rejected. “You know nothing about it.” He was getting edgy and he was tired; his leg ached, his shoulders hurt. He just wanted to be left alone.
“I did tell my guys not to put you two in with each other. Now I know Steve was busy today, he must have forgotten. I’ll make it clearer to all of them at the next staff meeting,” Preedy promised, and House wondered why the guy gave a shit anyway. They didn’t like each other; what did he care?
“I took one swing at the guy, and it didn’t connect, I did it to get out of the situation,” House admitted quietly.
Preedy nodded, “Steve isn’t the best of liars, and he looked a bit jittery when I came on shift. I think he knew he’d screwed up.”
“Oh, he was having a bad day, that’s all right then,” House said sarcastically. “There are what? Eight of us up there, how hard is it to remember not to put one guy with another?”
Preedy didn’t respond to that, he looked at the floor again. House couldn’t tell if it was because he was ashamed of his subordinate of because he didn’t want to argue.
“House, I won’t let Felix get anywhere near you, I promise,” Preedy assured. “What happened today won’t happen again but that’s the best I can do. We can’t put you or him anywhere else. Now you can stay down here all week if you want, but you’ll still have to go back sometime. It might as well be now because I know you hate it down here. You need to try and put the guy out of your mind.”
“How do I do that when he taunts me every time he passes my cell?” House said bitterly.
Preedy thought about that for a moment, “That won’t happen any more.”
“Yeah, you’re going to shut him up; hasn’t worked with me.”
Preedy tilted his head at a slight angle, “I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be,” he told House lowly. “You can go back, or stay here, it’s up to you.”
House thought about it, he did hate it down here. Slowly, he got to his feet and Preedy took him back to the block.