Chapter Text
“Chase and Cameron got back from their honeymoon yesterday.”
House grunted. Wilson played with the cuff of his shirt and pretended that House had queried how they were. It was much easier to act now. It was much easier to pretend that House wasn’t staring off into space. At the same time, he, Wilson, reported the latest hospital gossip. He pretended that House wasn’t what everyone was whispering about in New Jersey.
Everyone was pretending.
“They are both sun-kissed and relaxed. The break did them good.”
The bloodshot eyes, grey and vacant, briefly connected with Wilson’s warmer chocolate ones. House said nothing as per usual. There was a click of finger joints, a brief tap of a cane before the older doctor stood up and turned to the window. The screech of the metal chair against tile briefly annoyed everyone in the small white room.
Everything was white, clean, and bland. Boring. This colour scared Wilson more now than it had done in the past. He stayed in his seat and watched House touch the smudged windowpane. He let him have his space.
“He’s reticent. I sense this is not normal behaviour for him. Dr Wilson...” Dr. Beasley placed her hand on Wilson’s shoulder and sighed. “James, it’s best to talk normally. Don’t omit things, just talk to him as you usually would. He needs a constant right now.”
“Right”
Wilson cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “I had a clinic patient the other day.” He smiled briefly. “He came in complaining of a sore throat. In the end, I found out that he’d experimented with putting a...” He noticed that a visiting mother and possibly girlfriend occupied the sofa next to their table. Still, their current interest was in him and his story rather than their own family member. He joined House at the window, touched his friend’s arm and squeezed it.
Wilson went to speak, but when he noticed a lone tear seep down House’s cheek, he paused. He grabbed his friend and physically turned him to face him. “House?”
“She won’t shut up.” He whispered, squeaks of air sipping through his chapped lips. “She won’t, she won’t shut up.” His hand that had been leaving a print on the window reached for his hair and clenched hard. “She won’t shut up.”
“Okay...” Wilson searched his friend’s eyes for anything. But there was nothing to search for. He knew what was happening to his friend, and for the first time, in what felt like years, he brought his hands around the stiffened frame and hugged him like there was no tomorrow. “Okay, House. It’s okay.”
The sound of both of them crumbling to the floor, the larger but weaker frame of House toppling over the other doctor echoed around the room. As soon as Wilson had rolled his friend on to his back, a nurse had administered a heavy sedative. The wet, salty trail of tears still stained the man’s cheeks as Wilson watched his friend being manoeuvred back to his room.
When he got back to Princeton, Wilson pretended that everything was fine.
///~~~///
“You know what’s funny?” The chirpy singsong voice of Amber catapulted House from his day-dream. He had been drinking scotch on the rocks with a gorgeous twenty-something, while he played poker in a casino room. He shook his head to the now. In the far corner of the room, she began to play air piano on her knees. From where he was laying, he could not see her feet, but he was pretty sure she would be barefoot. Like always.
She stopped and glared at him. “Fine. Play the silent game with me. It won’t make me go away.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to know something funny.” He replied casually, himself tapping out a rhythm on his jean-clad thighs. Amber stood and skipped across to the side of his bed, leaning into his space, almost nose to nose.
“Yeah, you do.”
“No, really, I’m alright, thank you. Unless it’s a dirty limerick, I’m not really in the mood.”
“I know what mood you’re in, remember?” Amber argued, straightening her back and tapping him on the chest. He felt nothing. “I am you.”
“Yeah. I know that too.”
“I know when you’re tired when you’re angry...” She smirked. “When you’re crying.”
“Shut up.”
She laughed at him and brushed her fingers down to his hand and put on a baby voice. “She won’t shut up... she won’t shut up” House knuckles went white while he breathed in deeply. His heart pounded in his chest as he fought himself not to show any emotion, which considering Amber was a part of him- she laughed again. “This is too easy.” House rolled onto his side, onto his good leg, and stared at the blank wall the bed was bolted to. He closed his eyes tight. “Wilson doesn’t want to come back, you know,” Amber added after a moment of silence. “He doesn’t like to see you like this. You failed him.”
“I failed him?”
“How many times has he tried to help you and you’ve ignored it? Maybe he won’t come back anymore. He doesn’t want to see you now.” She paused, obviously for effect. “You’re a disappointment to him. To everyone.”
When the sedative had worn off, he found himself lying where he was now, woozy and lethargic. No Wilson, just a nurse watching over him from afar. She kindly informed him that his friend had left to let him get some rest. That he would be back soon.
With the two days passing slowly, he found himself wondering whether he wanted to see his friend again. There was only so much pity one person could take, and House’s tolerance was already thin.
“Greg”
Dr. Beasley tapped tentatively on the open door. He heard the footsteps until they were next to him, and on returning to a horizontal position on his back, found Amber no longer to be there. He quickly glanced around the room before focusing on the new visitor.
“It’s House”
“Greg. We use first names here.” Informal and friendly.
House bit his lip hard. “House.”
The doctor picked up a chair, placed it next to the bed and sat with the meds on her lap. “How are you feeling? I’ve got your pain meds here.”
House pulled himself into an upright position, a sigh, a huff and a gentle bump as his head touched the headboard. “I’m in pain and feeling crappy. No thanks to you.”
She didn’t lose focus. “When James visited you-”
House wondered if Amber was hiding in the hallway listening. He realised quickly what a ridiculous idea that was. “Can I have my meds?”
“Is she here now?”
“No.”
“You keep looking around. She was here?”
“I would like my meds now. Please.” House offered with an open palm and hoped the two powdery ovals would be dropped on to it soonish. But the doctor seemed more inclined to talk about his insanity; a topic House was the least interested in. “Fine. Yes. We spoke about opening a joint bank account. Satisfied?” Beasley scowled but passed across the medication he craved. Once they had hit the back of his throat, he closed his eyes.
“We want to change your prescription.” House blinked and looked at her.
“What for?”
“You seem to be coping with this dosage.” She touched House’s arm gently. Far too many people seemed to be touching him recently, he reflected. It was uncomfortable.
“I can’t function on a lower dosage. The pain-” He grabbed his thigh as a knee-jerk reaction. “I -just. No.”
The doctor looked at him for a moment and nodded. “We’re changing the meds tomorrow, you show that you’re not coping then we’ll discuss it.”
The world snapped.
“Why ask me then?” House’s voice cut through the room. The pain in his thigh was searing hot. He started rubbing his leg back and forth over the jeans. “I need to be on the original prescription. This is fucking ridiculous! I might as well be going cold turkey.” A sharp jolt of pain erupted from his leg, and he clutched it tight. “You’re meant to be helping me!” A sweat broke out on his forehead, and yet the doctor beside him remained calm.
“This is psychological. You were fine before I came in.”
“Before you came in I was hallucinating!”
“But pain-wise?” House glared. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” As soon as the doctor left another visitor appeared, one who was even less welcome. Just like an imaginary revolving door, he shuddered.
“Well well, the baby doesn’t get what he wants, and the baby throws the rattle out of the pram. Maybe baby should’ve not been given any toys at all.”
“I am well aware of what you are insinuating,” House replied steadily, the pain already less sharp and hot than it was 20 seconds ago. “I’ve been there, done that. Got the rehab t-shirt.”
“And...?”
“And what? Why should I go through that crap when you might not even be associated with my addiction?”
Amber tilted her head. “But you said it was. If that’s not the case, then you don’t know the cause. Meaning you can’t work -do your job anymore. Either way, you’re going to lose Greg. You might as well get clean.”
House shook his head, grabbed his cane and stood up. “I’m going for a walk, do not follow me.”
He left the room, leaving Amber twirling in the centre of it, smiling like she always did.
Barefoot.
///~~~///
The room, this one was also white, was large and unfriendly. It was bright from the neon lighting, large glass windows and shiny tiled floor. Four chairs and one metal table. House sat watching the door and tapping his fingers against the wobbly table to the tune of some long-forgotten piece of music. Unhurriedly his doctor seeped into his space and sat opposite him.
“Good Morning Greg.” There was no pause as the doctor had no problem assuming the greeting would not be returned. “I have some good news. Your latest blood work shows that your bilirubin levels are fine. We’re on the right track. You say that Amber doesn’t appear as often as before?”
House nodded slowly. She’d appeared barely this week, mostly during the evenings, and after his evening dose. The correlation was uncanny. His mixed feelings that, a) he knew the cause of his hallucinations and b) the cause was his only reason for happiness were poorly disguised. “She’s as friendly as ever though.” He submitted quietly while playing with the chipped corner of the desk.
“It’s because your mind is well aware that you are recovering.”
“I know that.” House curtly replied. “These rooms are driving me... uh... uh... I’m bored.” He admitted freely. “I don’t... see her when I’m busy.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe someone could send books?” He asked, gently pushing at some information.
2 weeks and 2 days since House had collapsed on top of Wilson crying about an imaginary monster. Since he’d said, he’d be back soon.
House knew better than to ask.
“Yes we can ask for someone to do that, but is our library not sufficient?” The look on House’s face showed that it wasn’t. “I’ll contact Dr Wilson for you unless you want to do it yourself?” House shook his head. If Wilson didn’t want to come, he wasn’t going to be prompted by a phone call. He’ll probably send something in the mail. Suddenly House shivered and crossed his arms to tighten the jumper around his chest. It felt loose and uncomfortable. He felt lost. What happened to someone being his constant? “Alright.”