**Okay, so here's a new story….It's a bit twisted….there's maybe one or two things in this entire story that's even close to fluffy…Soo….Here ya go…Please read and review…Thanks!** Kat
Clean. That one word ran itself through House's head as though it was a broken record. Tomorrow he'd be clean of pain medication for a year. House laughed, he wasn't
going to make it that long. Bitterly, he rubbed his leg; it had been paining him worse than normal lately. He knew it was a psychological pain, but, hey, pain was pain no
matter how you looked at it. Pain at Cuddy's recent wedding. Pain at Wilson's stupidly accurate predictions about him. Pain at his patient's death - A sixteen year old girl
had come in with fatigue, headaches, a fever, chills, and muscle pain. Then after a week or so she developed swollen lymph nodes, leading the team to suspect lymphoma,
only coming back negative. Week after week brought a new symptom, such as fainting, palpitations, paralysis in her face, poor memory, severe fatigue, inflammation in her
joints, and neurologic changes along with much else. Taub, a bald, yet conflicted, smart one, suspected Lyme disease when there was no rash.
They had guessed and guessed, wrong every time, each treatment making her worse, until she died. In the autopsy House found a bumpy, red skin rash on the back of
her ear, hidden by her hair and in a general location doctors, the idiots, never checked. It had been Lyme. Taub was right, yet no one believed him. - House shook his
head, strictly believing that the pain in his leg was causing him to be less like himself, unable to think clearly. He leaned against the cold porcelain of the bath-tub, where
he had once tried to perform surgery on himself, and picked up a yellow pill bottle, read the description...
House, Gregory
Hydrocodone/Acetaminophen
Take one or two every two to four hours
...and laughed. He dumped out the entire bottle's contents on his granite tile floor. About a hundred white pills spilled out. He took four of them in his shaking hand and
popped them in his mouth, swallowing the bitter pills without water. House leaned his aching, heavy head against the lip of the tub and closed his eyes, waiting for the
Vicodin to kick in. He hadn't taken any in a year, so it shouldn't take too long.
He was right, to his pleasure. Fifteen minutes later he was free of pain and as high as a kite. House stood up, feeling dominant and powerful, but wobbly on his feet, like
he was on a boat on rough seas instead of his bathroom floor covered in pills. The walls kept sliding out of his sight, runny and slippery, like an egg white. He found this
hilarious! But, underneath his humor, there was an underlying emotion. House, too high to comprehend anything, couldn't pinpoint it, though it made him pissed. Being
angry pissed him off! He was high dammit! Nothing should make him angry! In his rage there were images floating through his head. Images of Wilson, all-knowing and
snobbish. Taub, the evil, brilliant minion. Thirteen, the female version of him, self-destructive. Foreman, oh hail, almighty Foreman. Chase and Cameron, the blonde couple,
too naive for their own good. Then there was a picture of Cuddy, laughing at his pain, mocking him, kissing her husband, Lucas. Oh how it pissed him off! The anger forced
him to lean over the sink, two feet from him, and vomit. He wiped his mouth with his hand and stumbled out of his bathroom, no limp to be seen. Within seconds he
realized that there were weird sounds vibrating in his ears, like colors. Blue rang in his ears like a bell. Red and yellow, a tag team, played back and forth, far and tinny,
like a harpsichord. Green pinged to the beat, a metal triangle. It wasn't unpleasant, as they made great music together, so it didn't bother him as much.
**Ok thanks for reading! I promise for an update soon…as soon as a few people read and/or review it….Thanks!**Kat