House – My Episode Three, Part One

Man, this episode tonight was good!
I seriously thought he was having hallucinations when he saw the three of them.
I thought it was great when Chase started talking in the room above
where House was operating, and House goes,
“You see that guy up there with the peach fuzz?”

Okay, so. This episode has given me some really good ideas. I can’t wait to write them.
So, here we go, Season four, episode three, my way!

“I don’t care,” was his mantra. It was something he lived by. When you didn’t care, your heart didn’t break, you weren’t in emotional pain, your head was in control of everything. And that was exactly how he liked it. His head being in complete control.

House reached up and opened the cabinet above his sink and pulled down a bottle of scotch. He opened it, downed several gulps, closed it, and returned it to the shelf. Of course, Cuddy would kill him if she knew, but he intended to use all of his ‘avoid Cuddy’ tactics that day. If given the choice, he would have avoided work; he didn’t have time for medical puzzles. He wanted to solve the one in his own head.

Had he actually seen and heard Cameron and Foreman? He could explain the auditory hallucinations away as just extremely poignant memories that struck him. But thinking that he saw Cameron walk past his office?

He sighed, looking at his hands gripping the edge of the sink. Then he reached for the scotch again.

___________________________________

“Where the Hell is House?” Cuddy yelled as she left the elevator. The first person she saw was Wilson. “Wilson! Have you heard from House?”

“Not since he stole my peach in the cafeteria a few days ago. Why? Is something wrong?”

Cuddy looked left and right, then leaned in closer to Wilson. “He was drinking. He was out of it enough that I had to splash him with water before he was coherent enough to understand me.”

Wilson’s eyes widened. “House, drinking on the job? I know he’ll kick back with a few at times, but…”

“I know. Wilson, I don’t know what to do. I threatened to fire him and that I would make sure he never worked in this state again if he came in in that condition a second time. But I wonder if he cares.”

Wilson’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, he cares, Cuddy. He cares too much and is too pigheaded to ever admit it.”

“You’re talking about Cameron, Chase, and Foreman.”

“Who else? Why do you think he’s set up this elaborate scheme of hiring new colleagues? He’s trying to take his mind off what he should be trying to fix. Of course, he won’t see it that way.”

“No, he never does. He’ll insist he’s fine until he, or someone else, is blue in the face.”

“I can’t promise anything’ll come of it, but if it will make you feel better, I’ll try talking to him.”

Cuddy smiled. “Thank you, Wilson.” She touched his arm for a moment and then walked on.

Wilson stared after her briefly, then sighed, shaking his head. House barely listened to him when Wilson wasn’t trying to lecture him. What could make him think House would give his words any credence now?

___________________________________

House limped into his office, barely able to maintain his balance. Some part of him told him he was coming apart at the seams and needed help, but the stubborn part of him kept insisting he could get through this. He’d be fine. He just had to convince himself that he didn’t care. Simple.

He finally pulled the blinds closed, after missing the cord four times, and sat down at his desk. He popped a couple vicodin in his mouth and threw his head back, swallowing them. When he brought his head forward again, he noticed the room was spinning. But he also noticed something else. Cameron was once again walking by his office… with blonde hair? Since when did she become a blonde?

House attempted to pull himself to a standing position to go see if it really was her, but his legs didn’t want to cooperate, so he gave up and remained in his chair. Glancing at his watch, he saw he’d only been there fifteen minutes. Damn. Another endless day ahead of him and he couldn’t even stand upright. Avoiding Cuddy was gonna be harder than he thought. Maybe drinking excessively wasn’t such a good idea…

____________________________________

Angela walked toward the hospital and saw the red group standing by the door. She approached them guardedly.

“Well, if it isn’t our new celebrity,” a blonde woman sneered at her. She had a red number six pinned to her doctor’s coat.

“Someone had to solve the case,” Angela answered coolly. “And I didn’t see you sticking around to do it.”

“That’s because I figured out what her diagnosis was long before you did. But I could tell that Dr. House wasn’t giving his full attention to us, so why should I shine then? But I’ll tell you this: one of those positions is mine. So don’t even think about trying to beat me out. I’ll blow you out of the water.”

Angela was amazed that someone could be so cutthroat about a job, even one serving under someone as well-renowned as Gregory House. Shaking her head slightly, she didn’t bother to answer; she just walked into the hospital to prepare for House’s present test.

_______________________________

“Clinic duty, House!” Cuddy called from the office door. “You’re not getting out of it today, so you might as well get it over with. There aren’t any ‘interesting’ cases that have come in yet.”

House woke with a startled snort. Clinic duty? Damn. “Aww, Mommy, do I hafta go?” he whined mockingly, giving her bloodshot puppy dog eyes.

“Yes. And you–” she stopped, catching a look at his eyes. “House, please tell me you didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” House answered sarcastically, quickly looking away from her. He grabbed his cane and hoped against hope that he could stand when he attempted to get up this time.

“I’m serious, House. I need you on board here. If you’re not fully with us–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save me your worries, I’ve got clinic duty.”

________________________________

There was only one reason House hated clinic duty. Not because the place was always busy. Not because the cases were boring. Not because he was forced here for so many hours per week. No. It was simply because the people who came in were so stupid!

After the people he had to deal with that day, he wished he hadn’t brought a strong cup of coffee with him. He’d rather have stayed in a slightly drunken stupor. Damn Cuddy.

His fi

rst patient, for example, in exam room three:

“Oh, doctor, thank God you came in. I really need your help right now.”

“Yeah, well, what seems to be the problem?” House asked, giving a once-over to this especially well-groomed man. His hair was parted exactly in the center, he had both his hands equal distance away from his body, his feet were both pointing to the floor at the exact same angle…

“Well, I have OCD and lately my symptoms are becoming worse. Everything in my life has to be equal. If I raise one hand, I have to raise this one.” He indicated by raising his left arm just above his head, then raising his right arm to the same height. “It’s taking over my life again and I don’t know how to stop it!”

House seemed to be counting something even after the man stopped talking. Just as he was going to open his mouth and ask what this supposed doctor was doing, House said, “Do you realize that everything you said contains equal syllables? Those first two sentences both contained eight. Then it was seventeen, eleven, eleven, seventeen.”

“You see what I’m referring to with this? I need help and I can’t stop on my own!”

“You did it again. That time it was ten syllables.” Despite the man’s whiny demeanor, House was starting to enjoy himself. But then he noticed that the guy looked like he was gonna blow a gasket, so he got down to business. “Okay, can you just nod yes or no to my questions?”

He nodded yes, going left once, right once, left once, right once.

“Okay. Do you take medication for this?”

A head bob, first to one side, then the other, and repeat.

House furrowed his eyebrows, then realized what that must mean. “You used to take medication for this?”

That annoying nod to signal yes.

This couldn’t be done with yes’s and no’s. “What stopped you?”

“The doctor I was seeing sent me to a new pharmacy. Better prices, you know, and the place gave me my pills. They were wrong, though. I can’t take them. I just can’t cuz it’s not the right thing for me to do. I need 50 milligram tabs and they gave me a hundred.”

“You’re supposed to take two fifty milligrams at once,” House said, figuring it out, “but when they changed it to one 100 milligram tablet, you stopped taking it because it wasn’t equal. Just nod.”

An affirmative nod.

“All right,” House said, taking out a prescription pad. “I’ll write you a prescription so they give you those 50 milligram pills, but you have to actually take them for it to work. Put simply,” he raised his voice, “stop obsessing!”

The man looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He also didn’t reach for the prescription paper when House hold it out to him.

“Oh, for the love of– Fine, I’m also gonna write out the name and number of a good behavioral therapist. See if he can’t squeeze some sense into that completely equalized brain of yours. Which, ironically enough, isn’t equal at all, since Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is caused by a chemical imbalance.”

House left the room, leaving the guy looking like his head would explode.

_____________________________

“House,” Wilson said, catching up to him after he escaped the clinic. “I wanted to talk to you. Got a minute?”

“Not if this is gonna be some friendly chat about my habits in the past few days.”

“House, I–”

Suddenly, House got dizzy. He stumbled and his shoulder hit the wall, hard. Putting a hand to his forehead, he sunk to the ground and looked up at the second floor railing. Breathing out slowly, he tried to joke, “Whoa. Anyone else feel that earthquake just now?”

“This is what I’m talking about. House, something is up with you. I don’t know what it is, but–”

“Oh, bull patooties you don’t!” House spat out, trying out the word he’d seen in a Ziggy comic that morning, before his burst of scotch. Patooty. Reminded him, simultaneously, of pancakes and a nice, well toned ass. Of the female variety. We weren’t talking donkeys, here. “Cuddy must have told you about knowing that I came in after drinking a few days ago and now you’re trying to pull the do-gooder card and meddle in my life because you need people to need you. Well, I don’t need you and I don’t want Cuddy using you to butt into my life!”

Wilson just sighed. “So, you wanna say that to me face to face, or can you even stand under your own power right now?”

House let out something akin to a growl and was about to look away when something caught his eye near the railing. No, not something. Someone. Chase was there.

“What the–” he began, confused. He struggled to his feet and looked again. Chase was gone. “Did you see…?” House looked at Wilson.

“See what? House,” Wilson looked at the railing, “there’s nobody there.”