Gentle Knock-Part 5
Title: A Gentle Knock at the Door, Part 5
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: Mostly House & Wilson, plus Cuddy, Chase and Foreman, along with some new folks.
Warnings and So On: Probably NC-17 for concepts. Later on for violent imagery plus... oh, you'll just have to wait and see. H/W friendship (perhaps slash if you wear slash goggles)
Summary: A sequel to Priority's Exigencies
, which is a sequel to DIY Sheep's The Contract
, which has now spawned an incredible number of offshoots. The short version is that House is a physical and emotional mess, having been wrongly imprisoned and tortured and all sorts of nasty stuff. It's about what happens next, and how House deals with it.
Timeline: Set nearly a year after the beginning of Exigencies.
Earlier parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Comments: Be gentle. And if you're going to flame me, go elsewhere. Thanks to AW, GM and my medical guru TD, who tells me the medicine is okay, but the procedure is all messed up. Drama trumps medicine, or so I've heard.
Oh, Yeah, the Disclaimer: I certainly don't own House or any of the characters therein, although it would be nice if I did. They belong to David Shore & company. It's just that they waltzed into my head and wouldn't leave until I told their story.
___________________________________________
A Gentle Knock at the Door
Part 5
Wilson glanced at the clock. It was lunchtime. He hadn’t seen House since yesterday afternoon, in itself an unusual occurrence these days. He decided it was time to check in. Grabbing his sack lunch, Wilson headed down the stairs to the Diagnostics department.
“Hi, it’s me,” he said, knocking gently on the door as usual. No answer. He went through the conference room, where Devi and Chase were eating their lunch. They looked at him expectantly, as if he could answer some unasked question for them. The door to House’s office was closed. Wilson tilted his head toward the door. “He in?”
“Nope,” said Chase, eyeing Wilson with curiosity. “Thought you’d know where he was.”
Hmm, thought Wilson. I guess we’re playing by new rules.
“Not a clue,” said Wilson. “Not a clue.”
* * * *
House had requested a comfortable armchair and ottoman for Rainie’s room. If he was going to spend so much time in Room 304, accommodations would have to be made. The nurse in the corner looked at him oddly when the new furniture arrived. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “Beats me where it came from,” and then plopped himself down with a sigh, grabbing another medical journal from his backpack.
An hour and a half later, he woke up, wanting what Winnie-the-Pooh called “a little something.” The journal was on the floor. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after one. Wilson must have been and gone, wondering where he was. Do him good, thought House, amused. In the meantime, he should get something to eat. He looked over at Rainie, who was curled up in as close to a fetal position as the wires and tubes would let her.
To the nurse, he said, very quietly, “Did she wake up again?” The nurse, whose name he had discovered was Ellen Markham, shook her head. Not one of the regular staff, she had been sent by the prison hospital. All the time he’d been in the room, she’d been reading a romance novel in the corner. Just as well, he thought.
Once he was out of the room, he called Wilson on his cell phone. No point in making him completely nuts.
“House?! Where are you?” said Wilson, a little too frantically.
“Just about to get some lunch,” he replied, smiling wickedly to himself. “Wanna join me?”
He met Wilson in the cafeteria, at their usual table. Maneuvering the tray with the crutches was impossible, so he scanned the menu and conned Wilson into doing the grunt work. He was sure to add plenty of chips and cookies and sugar-laden Coke to make Wilson happy. The punch line? He even paid for it.
Wilson was very confused. Carrying the tray back to the table, he puzzled over the dramatic changes he’d seen in his friend over the last couple of days.
“So… how’s it going?” Wilson asked gingerly, after he’d finished half of the sandwich he brought from home. He didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Pretty well,” came the reply, “all things considered.” House looked at him with insincere innocence, and fluttered his eyelashes.
That tears it. No more Mr. Nice Guy, thought Wilson.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now spill it. What’s happening?”
Much to his surprise, House smiled-a genuine smile, his eyes observing Wilson. Messing with Wilson had been one of his greatest pleasures, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.
“Not much, really. Did a bunch of research last night, and put together a tentative list of names for Cuddy. I’ll try to finish it up tonight.”
“And where were you all morning?” Wilson couldn’t contain his curiosity. “The kids had no idea where you were.”
“They’ll live,” said House, refusing to elaborate.
“Neither. Did. I,” said Wilson, enunciating each word deliberately, looking House right in the eye.
I may be about to cross the line here, thought House. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, even though he really wanted to keep things to himself.
He couldn’t explain it, but this was so personal… and so… so, what…? so… so scary… no, that wasn’t quite it, but in lieu of a better word it would have to do… he didn’t want to share it with anyone until he felt he was on firmer ground. Tricky, this emotional stuff. Lots of pitfalls all over the place.
House thought about the best way to present things. He didn’t want Wilson upset, because that meant sooner or later he’d be upset. But he didn’t want to spill his guts, either. He was afraid there’d be plenty of that in the days and weeks and probably months ahead. He just wanted to put the brakes on, just a little. Things were going too fast.
Wilson watched his friend’s face; he could tell House was struggling with something, something major. And as much as he wanted to be included, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t hold his friend’s hand forever. He’d gotten accustomed to his role as the supporter, the best friend, the one who always understood, who was always there. This must be what parents feel like when their kids go on their first date, he thought. I want to protect him, and yet that’s probably not the best thing for him. If he’s ever going to recover even a fraction of what he’s lost, I’ve got to let go. Starting now, I guess.
After a very long pause, they both started speaking at once, paused again, then started together again, looking at each other with amusement. Wilson remembered a time when House’s anxious smiles never reached his eyes, and here he was smiling. Twice in as many minutes. Not bad, thought Wilson. Not bad.
He waved his arm with a flourish, gesturing for House to go first.
House nodded and began. “I was in Rainie Adler’s room,” he said, simply. “Until I know how it’s going to go, I’d rather not go into a lot of detail. Are you okay with that?”
Wilson replied warmly. “Of course I am,” he said and meaning it. “Of course I am.”
“Your turn,” said House.
“That’s okay. Wasn’t important,” said Wilson.
* * * *
When House got off the elevator on the third floor, he knew something was very wrong. He could hear yelling coming from the direction of Room 304. Underneath the yelling, he heard a woman’s voice, screaming.
Damn these useless legs, he thought, tottering toward the sound as fast as he could go. He flung open the door to see a tableau of confusion.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!” he demanded to know. The yelling stopped momentarily, although the screaming continued. Leaning heavily on his crutches, he dragged his legs behind him, moving as quickly as he could toward the bed where Rainie Adler sat partially upright, her eyes wide open in fright, emitting shrieks of terror. Using his body as a shield, he blocked the group from coming too near.
“Get out of here! All of you! NOW!”
The crowd, which he realized actually consisted of only four people, started to argue with him, moving closer to the bed. Rainie’s screams got louder.
“NOW! I mean it! What do you people think you’re doing?! We’ll sort this out later! For now, get the hell out of here if you don’t want to kill her!”
That got their attention. Slowly, they backed off. The group consisted of the police guard, a couple of people he didn’t recognize and Ellen Markham, the nurse.
As they left the room, he eased closer to Rainie’s bed. Her screams slowed and quieted.
He turned to look at her, recognizing the terror on her face. Damn. He hated this. He’d better get a therapist on the team really fast, because he sure wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing.
“Rainie,” he said softly, unsure of how to calm her down. Her screams had become cries, her breath coming in hiccupy pants. “Rainie, it’s me. I’m… I’m your doctor.” Better not give her his name yet. “I’m here to help you.”
She looked at him as if he had three heads. Slowly, he inched closer, putting out his hand for her to inspect. She looked at it intently, seeming to understand innately that anyone with a hand like that couldn’t hurt her. Her body unwound just a little.
Thinking of how Wilson helped him during those nightmare sessions, House awkwardly slid his left arm around Rainie’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. He could feel her heart beating wildly against his chest, her body tense and rigid against him. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here. No one will hurt you while I’m here.”
Ever so slowly, she began to relax.
An hour later, after he’d given her a sedative and helped her to sleep, House came out of the room, the actors in the tableau still hanging around.
“Now, calmly, tell me what the hell happened in there,” he said in a tone that made it clear he was not going to put up with any bullshit.
It was only much later in the day that he realized, with considerable surprise, that despite confronting an angry mob coming toward him in Rainie’s room, he had never felt a single second of fear. That’s interesting, he thought.
* * * *
“So, what the hell did happen?” asked Cuddy, clearly annoyed at the reports of disruption on the third floor.
“Sheer idiocy,” said House through clenched teeth. “The prison sent two guards over to-can you believe this?-check her out of the hospital. Apparently, their feeling was that she had survived the surgery, so must be out of danger, and therefore belonged back in prison. They barged into the room while she was asleep, shook her awake and started ordering her to get out of bed. Of course, she was terrified. The guard and the nurse-to their credit-were trying to manage the situation just as I arrived.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Is there anything more we can do to protect her from well-meaning Neanderthals? Any way we can keep her here?”
Cuddy looked thoughtful. “The odds are good that her conviction will be overturned today or tomorrow, and then it’s moot.”
House looked up, hopefully. “Really? That soon?” He thought back to the months he’d spent in the ill-equipped prison hospital, awaiting retrial. If Rainie could avoid that, things would be much easier.
“That’s what Roberts told me. I’m waiting to hear from him now.”
House nodded thoughtfully. “That would be good.”
While he was there, he gave Cuddy his wish list for Rainie’s long-term medical team. They went over it together. She seemed to feel that getting all or most of his choices was a good possibility.
* * * *
Roberts arrived with the news at the end of the day. Rainie’s conviction had been quietly overturned half an hour earlier. The judge was sympathetic and knew the history-he was the same judge who had presided when House had collapsed into catatonia at the end of his own retrial. That part was over. Rainie would still have to testify at the trials of her abusers, but they’d deal with that when the time came.
Cuddy paged House, who arrived a few minutes later. She could see the strain was telling on him. It had been a very rough couple of days, and House didn’t have much stamina. His eyes looked hollow, his gait was even slower than usual and the trembling in his hands more noticeable. She was going to send him home shortly, she decided. It was Friday, so maybe he could get some rest over the weekend.
After he was seated, she and Roberts laid out their ideas for dealing with the press.
“Now that the case is officially in the court record, the news is bound to get out,” said Cuddy. “If we can avoid it, I’d like to try to make sure that no one knows you’re the lead physician on this.”
House nodded his agreement. He’d already been thinking about what the press vultures would write when they learned he was connected to this case. Even without that connection, his whole story was sure to be rehashed ad nauseum for the delectation of the drooling masses.
“I think we need to start notifying her former co-workers and see if we can track down any other friends. She doesn’t seem to have much in the way of family,” said Roberts. He didn’t mention Rainie’s daughter. That was another matter, and would have to be handled delicately. “If you’d like, I’ll get my team on it first thing Monday morning. We’ll deal with it discreetly and in person, starting with her colleagues at the Times. Some of them may want to come see her. What should we say?”
Cuddy and Roberts looked to House for the answer.
House was thoughtful. “Let me think on it a few minutes,” he finally said. “I don’t want her overwhelmed, but it may help to see familiar faces.” He thought of his own slow realization that Wilson was not there as part of Thompson’s plan but as his own good friend. What Rainie really needed was a good friend like Wilson. I wonder if she had any, thought House. Probably. Only manipulative bastards like me have just one friend.
Cuddy and Roberts continued to talk about the logistics of handling the press while House cogitated. Finally, during a pause in their conversation, he looked up.
“Tell them to contact me,” he said suddenly. “Give them my cell number. Oh, and if you could try to find out who she was closest to when you’re breaking the news, let me know. I want to manage who she sees.”
Cuddy was getting to the point where House’s reactions in this unfamiliar situation no longer shocked her, but she was still startled-amazed might be a better word-at how House was behaving. She felt that she was seeing the Greg House she’d always suspected was in there somewhere, under all the guff and the nastiness and the practical jokes. This must be unbelievably hard for him.
* * * *
With some satisfaction, he personally supervised the removal of Rainie’s leg chain, and watched Ellen Markham and the police guard pack up and leave. A new nurse from PPTH settled in to keep an eye on the patient. He gave strict instructions to be called if there were any problems. He buzzed Dr. Ajunta and filled him in. Both of them would be on call throughout the weekend.
After checking in again on Rainie, and finding her sleeping somewhat comfortably, House went to Wilson’s office. It was 4:30. Plopping down on the couch in Wilson’s office, he took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.
“Any chance you’ll be done shortly?” he asked.
Wilson looked up sharply. House didn’t look good. He’d been overdoing it. “I could be,” he replied. “Not up to driving yourself?”
House agreed that he wasn’t. He closed his eyes. It hurt too much to move. He’d be willing to stay right here in this spot for the next 10 hours. He wished that storm front would move through.
“I’ll run you home, and then Linda and I can come back for your car,” said Wilson decidedly. He closed up his briefcase and came over to House, extending his right arm. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.” He helped House up and guided him out of the building to the car.
* * * *
As they pulled into the driveway, Wilson glanced over at his dozing friend. What had possessed him to take this on? Wilson wondered. It was a disaster in the making.
“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re here.” He’d called ahead to Linda, warning her to be ready with the wheelchair. She must have heard the car pull in, because there she was, rolling the chair up to the passenger side door.
House open his eyes just slightly. He didn’t think he could even get out of the car. Wilson and Linda eased him out of the passenger seat and into the chair.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t even put in a full day, so what made him think he was the right man for the enormous task he’d taken on?
“Don’t be ridiculous, doc,” said Linda, rolling him through the front door. “You’re just tired. Little man, you’ve had a busy day.”
Once inside, they considered their options. “Straight to bed?” asked Wilson. Linda nodded. For once, they didn’t even give House a say, and he was too drained to argue.
After helping him change into a soft shirt and sweatpants, they tucked him into the big, overstuffed bed, propping him up on the soft pillows and putting the television remote within reach. Linda brought him a tray with a turkey sandwich, some baby carrots, a can of Coke and a small bowl of vanilla pudding on it. If he got a few bites down, they’d be surprised.
He let out a breath and leaned back into the pillows.
“You okay for a few minutes while we go get your car?” asked Wilson. House nodded, closing his eyes.
“When we get back, we’ll give you a massage and another Vicodin,” added Linda. “Don’t take any before we get back or it’ll upset your stomach.” House nodded again. He didn’t think he had the strength even to open the bottle.
On the way back to the hospital, Linda asked Wilson about the guest room. “What’s the deal?” she wanted to know. Although he was startled, Wilson didn’t show it. Everything the last couple of days had been surprising, so why should it surprise him that House wanted to bring Rainie Adler home?
“You’ll know it soon enough, so I might as well tell you,” he said. “There’s a woman who has been through pretty much the same thing House has. He’s asked to be the lead doctor on her medical team.” Linda shot him a searching look. “Yeah, I know. Unlikely, huh? But he did. And I guess he’s planning to bring her home to recuperate once she’s out of the hospital.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he seems pretty determined. Which I guess is good.” He didn’t sound convinced.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
When they got home, House was awake, watching a bowling tournament on ESPN. The sandwich was half eaten and the pudding was gone. The can of Coke must have slipped through his ungainly fingers, because the tray was sticky with spilled soda, making the remains of his sandwich a soggy mess. Two of the carrots had rolled off the tray onto the bedclothes. He looked up sheepishly. “Clumsy,” was all he said.
“How you feeling?” asked Linda as she grabbed the errant carrots and put the tray on the floor. “Ready for that massage?”
“A little better,” he replied. “And yes. Also yes to the Vicodin.”
He slid down off the pillows. They gently eased him onto the top of the covers, turning him over on his stomach, and took his shirt and sweatpants off. Wilson and Linda were used to his shattered body now, but every once in a while-and this was one of those whiles-it still caught them up short. They exchanged a glance over House’s head.
How could anyone inflict this kind of damage on someone else? More to the point, how could anyone live through that kind of abuse? Broken bones, never properly set, angled up to the surface of his skin in odd places. His feet and hands were mangled so grotesquely they almost didn’t look like anything human. Early on in his recovery, he’d described his once-elegant hands as “squashed spiders,” and that’s certainly what they looked like. His right thigh, already so damaged from the muscle injury, was horribly disfigured now, after years of additional abuse on this most sensitive area. His entire body was covered in scars: little ones, big ones, long ones, short ones, round ones from cigarette burns. And then there was the large, irregularly shaped red one on his stomach, which looked like boiling water had been poured on him. And those were just the visible injuries. Internally and emotionally, similar damage had been inflicted.
“You take the right side; I’ll take the left,” said Linda, unemotionally. They gently began massaging House’s back. The two were so familiar with every inch of House’s pain-ridden body they could tell how bad it was tonight.
House bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. It was bad tonight. Very bad. As his friend and his nurse pummeled him from above, he distracted himself by thinking over the last couple of days. Why was he so certain that he could help Rainie Adler? He reminded himself that it was the ultimate mystery. Plus, if anyone could understand what she’d gone through, it was him. But did he have strength-physical or emotional-to handle it? He wasn’t sure. Guess I won’t know until I try, he decided.
Linda and Wilson had moved up to shoulders and forearms. “Uhhhhh… uhhhh…!” moaned House involuntarily through a quick intake of breath. He bit his lip again. He could no longer remember a time when he wasn’t in constant pain. A good day was when the pain was manageable. A great day was when he kept himself so distracted that he didn’t notice so much. A bad day-and this was ending as a very bad day-was when the pain permeated every thought, every movement, when he couldn’t breathe without having something hurt so badly he wanted to cry.
“I’ll win, you son-of-a-bitch,” he thought grimly, not realizing he’d said it aloud. “You may have beaten me, but you’re not going to win.”
“What was that, House?” asked Wilson, not quite sure what he’d heard.
“What? Nothing,” said House, burying his face in the pillow and biting a corner of the quilt. “Muffink at all.”
Stay tuned for further adventures...
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: Mostly House & Wilson, plus Cuddy, Chase and Foreman, along with some new folks.
Warnings and So On: Probably NC-17 for concepts. Later on for violent imagery plus... oh, you'll just have to wait and see. H/W friendship (perhaps slash if you wear slash goggles)
Summary: A sequel to Priority's Exigencies
, which is a sequel to DIY Sheep's The Contract
, which has now spawned an incredible number of offshoots. The short version is that House is a physical and emotional mess, having been wrongly imprisoned and tortured and all sorts of nasty stuff. It's about what happens next, and how House deals with it.
Timeline: Set nearly a year after the beginning of Exigencies.
Earlier parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Comments: Be gentle. And if you're going to flame me, go elsewhere. Thanks to AW, GM and my medical guru TD, who tells me the medicine is okay, but the procedure is all messed up. Drama trumps medicine, or so I've heard.
Oh, Yeah, the Disclaimer: I certainly don't own House or any of the characters therein, although it would be nice if I did. They belong to David Shore & company. It's just that they waltzed into my head and wouldn't leave until I told their story.
___________________________________________
A Gentle Knock at the Door
Part 5
Wilson glanced at the clock. It was lunchtime. He hadn’t seen House since yesterday afternoon, in itself an unusual occurrence these days. He decided it was time to check in. Grabbing his sack lunch, Wilson headed down the stairs to the Diagnostics department.
“Hi, it’s me,” he said, knocking gently on the door as usual. No answer. He went through the conference room, where Devi and Chase were eating their lunch. They looked at him expectantly, as if he could answer some unasked question for them. The door to House’s office was closed. Wilson tilted his head toward the door. “He in?”
“Nope,” said Chase, eyeing Wilson with curiosity. “Thought you’d know where he was.”
Hmm, thought Wilson. I guess we’re playing by new rules.
“Not a clue,” said Wilson. “Not a clue.”
* * * *
House had requested a comfortable armchair and ottoman for Rainie’s room. If he was going to spend so much time in Room 304, accommodations would have to be made. The nurse in the corner looked at him oddly when the new furniture arrived. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “Beats me where it came from,” and then plopped himself down with a sigh, grabbing another medical journal from his backpack.
An hour and a half later, he woke up, wanting what Winnie-the-Pooh called “a little something.” The journal was on the floor. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was after one. Wilson must have been and gone, wondering where he was. Do him good, thought House, amused. In the meantime, he should get something to eat. He looked over at Rainie, who was curled up in as close to a fetal position as the wires and tubes would let her.
To the nurse, he said, very quietly, “Did she wake up again?” The nurse, whose name he had discovered was Ellen Markham, shook her head. Not one of the regular staff, she had been sent by the prison hospital. All the time he’d been in the room, she’d been reading a romance novel in the corner. Just as well, he thought.
Once he was out of the room, he called Wilson on his cell phone. No point in making him completely nuts.
“House?! Where are you?” said Wilson, a little too frantically.
“Just about to get some lunch,” he replied, smiling wickedly to himself. “Wanna join me?”
He met Wilson in the cafeteria, at their usual table. Maneuvering the tray with the crutches was impossible, so he scanned the menu and conned Wilson into doing the grunt work. He was sure to add plenty of chips and cookies and sugar-laden Coke to make Wilson happy. The punch line? He even paid for it.
Wilson was very confused. Carrying the tray back to the table, he puzzled over the dramatic changes he’d seen in his friend over the last couple of days.
“So… how’s it going?” Wilson asked gingerly, after he’d finished half of the sandwich he brought from home. He didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Pretty well,” came the reply, “all things considered.” House looked at him with insincere innocence, and fluttered his eyelashes.
That tears it. No more Mr. Nice Guy, thought Wilson.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now spill it. What’s happening?”
Much to his surprise, House smiled-a genuine smile, his eyes observing Wilson. Messing with Wilson had been one of his greatest pleasures, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.
“Not much, really. Did a bunch of research last night, and put together a tentative list of names for Cuddy. I’ll try to finish it up tonight.”
“And where were you all morning?” Wilson couldn’t contain his curiosity. “The kids had no idea where you were.”
“They’ll live,” said House, refusing to elaborate.
“Neither. Did. I,” said Wilson, enunciating each word deliberately, looking House right in the eye.
I may be about to cross the line here, thought House. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, even though he really wanted to keep things to himself.
He couldn’t explain it, but this was so personal… and so… so, what…? so… so scary… no, that wasn’t quite it, but in lieu of a better word it would have to do… he didn’t want to share it with anyone until he felt he was on firmer ground. Tricky, this emotional stuff. Lots of pitfalls all over the place.
House thought about the best way to present things. He didn’t want Wilson upset, because that meant sooner or later he’d be upset. But he didn’t want to spill his guts, either. He was afraid there’d be plenty of that in the days and weeks and probably months ahead. He just wanted to put the brakes on, just a little. Things were going too fast.
Wilson watched his friend’s face; he could tell House was struggling with something, something major. And as much as he wanted to be included, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t hold his friend’s hand forever. He’d gotten accustomed to his role as the supporter, the best friend, the one who always understood, who was always there. This must be what parents feel like when their kids go on their first date, he thought. I want to protect him, and yet that’s probably not the best thing for him. If he’s ever going to recover even a fraction of what he’s lost, I’ve got to let go. Starting now, I guess.
After a very long pause, they both started speaking at once, paused again, then started together again, looking at each other with amusement. Wilson remembered a time when House’s anxious smiles never reached his eyes, and here he was smiling. Twice in as many minutes. Not bad, thought Wilson. Not bad.
He waved his arm with a flourish, gesturing for House to go first.
House nodded and began. “I was in Rainie Adler’s room,” he said, simply. “Until I know how it’s going to go, I’d rather not go into a lot of detail. Are you okay with that?”
Wilson replied warmly. “Of course I am,” he said and meaning it. “Of course I am.”
“Your turn,” said House.
“That’s okay. Wasn’t important,” said Wilson.
* * * *
When House got off the elevator on the third floor, he knew something was very wrong. He could hear yelling coming from the direction of Room 304. Underneath the yelling, he heard a woman’s voice, screaming.
Damn these useless legs, he thought, tottering toward the sound as fast as he could go. He flung open the door to see a tableau of confusion.
“What the fuck is going on in here?!” he demanded to know. The yelling stopped momentarily, although the screaming continued. Leaning heavily on his crutches, he dragged his legs behind him, moving as quickly as he could toward the bed where Rainie Adler sat partially upright, her eyes wide open in fright, emitting shrieks of terror. Using his body as a shield, he blocked the group from coming too near.
“Get out of here! All of you! NOW!”
The crowd, which he realized actually consisted of only four people, started to argue with him, moving closer to the bed. Rainie’s screams got louder.
“NOW! I mean it! What do you people think you’re doing?! We’ll sort this out later! For now, get the hell out of here if you don’t want to kill her!”
That got their attention. Slowly, they backed off. The group consisted of the police guard, a couple of people he didn’t recognize and Ellen Markham, the nurse.
As they left the room, he eased closer to Rainie’s bed. Her screams slowed and quieted.
He turned to look at her, recognizing the terror on her face. Damn. He hated this. He’d better get a therapist on the team really fast, because he sure wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing.
“Rainie,” he said softly, unsure of how to calm her down. Her screams had become cries, her breath coming in hiccupy pants. “Rainie, it’s me. I’m… I’m your doctor.” Better not give her his name yet. “I’m here to help you.”
She looked at him as if he had three heads. Slowly, he inched closer, putting out his hand for her to inspect. She looked at it intently, seeming to understand innately that anyone with a hand like that couldn’t hurt her. Her body unwound just a little.
Thinking of how Wilson helped him during those nightmare sessions, House awkwardly slid his left arm around Rainie’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. He could feel her heart beating wildly against his chest, her body tense and rigid against him. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here. No one will hurt you while I’m here.”
Ever so slowly, she began to relax.
An hour later, after he’d given her a sedative and helped her to sleep, House came out of the room, the actors in the tableau still hanging around.
“Now, calmly, tell me what the hell happened in there,” he said in a tone that made it clear he was not going to put up with any bullshit.
It was only much later in the day that he realized, with considerable surprise, that despite confronting an angry mob coming toward him in Rainie’s room, he had never felt a single second of fear. That’s interesting, he thought.
* * * *
“So, what the hell did happen?” asked Cuddy, clearly annoyed at the reports of disruption on the third floor.
“Sheer idiocy,” said House through clenched teeth. “The prison sent two guards over to-can you believe this?-check her out of the hospital. Apparently, their feeling was that she had survived the surgery, so must be out of danger, and therefore belonged back in prison. They barged into the room while she was asleep, shook her awake and started ordering her to get out of bed. Of course, she was terrified. The guard and the nurse-to their credit-were trying to manage the situation just as I arrived.” His eyes flashed with anger. “Is there anything more we can do to protect her from well-meaning Neanderthals? Any way we can keep her here?”
Cuddy looked thoughtful. “The odds are good that her conviction will be overturned today or tomorrow, and then it’s moot.”
House looked up, hopefully. “Really? That soon?” He thought back to the months he’d spent in the ill-equipped prison hospital, awaiting retrial. If Rainie could avoid that, things would be much easier.
“That’s what Roberts told me. I’m waiting to hear from him now.”
House nodded thoughtfully. “That would be good.”
While he was there, he gave Cuddy his wish list for Rainie’s long-term medical team. They went over it together. She seemed to feel that getting all or most of his choices was a good possibility.
* * * *
Roberts arrived with the news at the end of the day. Rainie’s conviction had been quietly overturned half an hour earlier. The judge was sympathetic and knew the history-he was the same judge who had presided when House had collapsed into catatonia at the end of his own retrial. That part was over. Rainie would still have to testify at the trials of her abusers, but they’d deal with that when the time came.
Cuddy paged House, who arrived a few minutes later. She could see the strain was telling on him. It had been a very rough couple of days, and House didn’t have much stamina. His eyes looked hollow, his gait was even slower than usual and the trembling in his hands more noticeable. She was going to send him home shortly, she decided. It was Friday, so maybe he could get some rest over the weekend.
After he was seated, she and Roberts laid out their ideas for dealing with the press.
“Now that the case is officially in the court record, the news is bound to get out,” said Cuddy. “If we can avoid it, I’d like to try to make sure that no one knows you’re the lead physician on this.”
House nodded his agreement. He’d already been thinking about what the press vultures would write when they learned he was connected to this case. Even without that connection, his whole story was sure to be rehashed ad nauseum for the delectation of the drooling masses.
“I think we need to start notifying her former co-workers and see if we can track down any other friends. She doesn’t seem to have much in the way of family,” said Roberts. He didn’t mention Rainie’s daughter. That was another matter, and would have to be handled delicately. “If you’d like, I’ll get my team on it first thing Monday morning. We’ll deal with it discreetly and in person, starting with her colleagues at the Times. Some of them may want to come see her. What should we say?”
Cuddy and Roberts looked to House for the answer.
House was thoughtful. “Let me think on it a few minutes,” he finally said. “I don’t want her overwhelmed, but it may help to see familiar faces.” He thought of his own slow realization that Wilson was not there as part of Thompson’s plan but as his own good friend. What Rainie really needed was a good friend like Wilson. I wonder if she had any, thought House. Probably. Only manipulative bastards like me have just one friend.
Cuddy and Roberts continued to talk about the logistics of handling the press while House cogitated. Finally, during a pause in their conversation, he looked up.
“Tell them to contact me,” he said suddenly. “Give them my cell number. Oh, and if you could try to find out who she was closest to when you’re breaking the news, let me know. I want to manage who she sees.”
Cuddy was getting to the point where House’s reactions in this unfamiliar situation no longer shocked her, but she was still startled-amazed might be a better word-at how House was behaving. She felt that she was seeing the Greg House she’d always suspected was in there somewhere, under all the guff and the nastiness and the practical jokes. This must be unbelievably hard for him.
* * * *
With some satisfaction, he personally supervised the removal of Rainie’s leg chain, and watched Ellen Markham and the police guard pack up and leave. A new nurse from PPTH settled in to keep an eye on the patient. He gave strict instructions to be called if there were any problems. He buzzed Dr. Ajunta and filled him in. Both of them would be on call throughout the weekend.
After checking in again on Rainie, and finding her sleeping somewhat comfortably, House went to Wilson’s office. It was 4:30. Plopping down on the couch in Wilson’s office, he took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling.
“Any chance you’ll be done shortly?” he asked.
Wilson looked up sharply. House didn’t look good. He’d been overdoing it. “I could be,” he replied. “Not up to driving yourself?”
House agreed that he wasn’t. He closed his eyes. It hurt too much to move. He’d be willing to stay right here in this spot for the next 10 hours. He wished that storm front would move through.
“I’ll run you home, and then Linda and I can come back for your car,” said Wilson decidedly. He closed up his briefcase and came over to House, extending his right arm. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.” He helped House up and guided him out of the building to the car.
* * * *
As they pulled into the driveway, Wilson glanced over at his dozing friend. What had possessed him to take this on? Wilson wondered. It was a disaster in the making.
“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re here.” He’d called ahead to Linda, warning her to be ready with the wheelchair. She must have heard the car pull in, because there she was, rolling the chair up to the passenger side door.
House open his eyes just slightly. He didn’t think he could even get out of the car. Wilson and Linda eased him out of the passenger seat and into the chair.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. He couldn’t even put in a full day, so what made him think he was the right man for the enormous task he’d taken on?
“Don’t be ridiculous, doc,” said Linda, rolling him through the front door. “You’re just tired. Little man, you’ve had a busy day.”
Once inside, they considered their options. “Straight to bed?” asked Wilson. Linda nodded. For once, they didn’t even give House a say, and he was too drained to argue.
After helping him change into a soft shirt and sweatpants, they tucked him into the big, overstuffed bed, propping him up on the soft pillows and putting the television remote within reach. Linda brought him a tray with a turkey sandwich, some baby carrots, a can of Coke and a small bowl of vanilla pudding on it. If he got a few bites down, they’d be surprised.
He let out a breath and leaned back into the pillows.
“You okay for a few minutes while we go get your car?” asked Wilson. House nodded, closing his eyes.
“When we get back, we’ll give you a massage and another Vicodin,” added Linda. “Don’t take any before we get back or it’ll upset your stomach.” House nodded again. He didn’t think he had the strength even to open the bottle.
On the way back to the hospital, Linda asked Wilson about the guest room. “What’s the deal?” she wanted to know. Although he was startled, Wilson didn’t show it. Everything the last couple of days had been surprising, so why should it surprise him that House wanted to bring Rainie Adler home?
“You’ll know it soon enough, so I might as well tell you,” he said. “There’s a woman who has been through pretty much the same thing House has. He’s asked to be the lead doctor on her medical team.” Linda shot him a searching look. “Yeah, I know. Unlikely, huh? But he did. And I guess he’s planning to bring her home to recuperate once she’s out of the hospital.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he seems pretty determined. Which I guess is good.” He didn’t sound convinced.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
When they got home, House was awake, watching a bowling tournament on ESPN. The sandwich was half eaten and the pudding was gone. The can of Coke must have slipped through his ungainly fingers, because the tray was sticky with spilled soda, making the remains of his sandwich a soggy mess. Two of the carrots had rolled off the tray onto the bedclothes. He looked up sheepishly. “Clumsy,” was all he said.
“How you feeling?” asked Linda as she grabbed the errant carrots and put the tray on the floor. “Ready for that massage?”
“A little better,” he replied. “And yes. Also yes to the Vicodin.”
He slid down off the pillows. They gently eased him onto the top of the covers, turning him over on his stomach, and took his shirt and sweatpants off. Wilson and Linda were used to his shattered body now, but every once in a while-and this was one of those whiles-it still caught them up short. They exchanged a glance over House’s head.
How could anyone inflict this kind of damage on someone else? More to the point, how could anyone live through that kind of abuse? Broken bones, never properly set, angled up to the surface of his skin in odd places. His feet and hands were mangled so grotesquely they almost didn’t look like anything human. Early on in his recovery, he’d described his once-elegant hands as “squashed spiders,” and that’s certainly what they looked like. His right thigh, already so damaged from the muscle injury, was horribly disfigured now, after years of additional abuse on this most sensitive area. His entire body was covered in scars: little ones, big ones, long ones, short ones, round ones from cigarette burns. And then there was the large, irregularly shaped red one on his stomach, which looked like boiling water had been poured on him. And those were just the visible injuries. Internally and emotionally, similar damage had been inflicted.
“You take the right side; I’ll take the left,” said Linda, unemotionally. They gently began massaging House’s back. The two were so familiar with every inch of House’s pain-ridden body they could tell how bad it was tonight.
House bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. It was bad tonight. Very bad. As his friend and his nurse pummeled him from above, he distracted himself by thinking over the last couple of days. Why was he so certain that he could help Rainie Adler? He reminded himself that it was the ultimate mystery. Plus, if anyone could understand what she’d gone through, it was him. But did he have strength-physical or emotional-to handle it? He wasn’t sure. Guess I won’t know until I try, he decided.
Linda and Wilson had moved up to shoulders and forearms. “Uhhhhh… uhhhh…!” moaned House involuntarily through a quick intake of breath. He bit his lip again. He could no longer remember a time when he wasn’t in constant pain. A good day was when the pain was manageable. A great day was when he kept himself so distracted that he didn’t notice so much. A bad day-and this was ending as a very bad day-was when the pain permeated every thought, every movement, when he couldn’t breathe without having something hurt so badly he wanted to cry.
“I’ll win, you son-of-a-bitch,” he thought grimly, not realizing he’d said it aloud. “You may have beaten me, but you’re not going to win.”
“What was that, House?” asked Wilson, not quite sure what he’d heard.
“What? Nothing,” said House, burying his face in the pillow and biting a corner of the quilt. “Muffink at all.”
Stay tuned for further adventures...