Title: Used to the Pain
Category: House, MD
Pairing: None
Genre: Angst
Set: 6x01 "Broken"… just after the opening scene until his call to Wilson…
Rating: PG
Summary: Is he getting better? Or just used to the pain? Sort-of songfic…
AN: So hard finding the right scenes to tag, but I finally settled on these ones, and to remind everyone who read my profile and to tell everyone who didn't… This new series will be posted in story format with each tag being a new chapter because people kept adding my COMPLETED one-shot tags to story alerts, which is kinda useless since "completed" means it won't be updated… anyway…Chapter 1a of "Withdrawal"….
AN 2: The few song lyrics in this chapter are from "Used to the Pain" by Tracy Lawrence
…I won't go so far as to say that I'm fine…
Detox was a bitch. Even the slow detox as they gradually weaned him off the Vicodin. In one small part of his mind, he decided that the cold-turkey detox he'd hallucinated only a few nights previously was much more preferable. The hallucination part, though…not so much.
'But then,' House thought in a moment of calm when he actually had time to think, 'that's why I'm here, isn't it? To get rid of the hallucinations…' And it seemed to be working. He hadn't heard a single whiny voice whispering in his ear for a few hours now. There'd been no sign of the annoying blond for twice that long. He had allowed himself a sigh of relief when he'd realized she'd vanished.
That sigh of relief had quickly become a gasp of pain when his leg reminded him why Amber was no longer tormenting him. There wasn't much he could do to silence the pain, however, since they were giving him scheduled doses in smaller amounts than he was used to as part of the slow detox.
…Too much of what I felt for you remains…
He rolled over, clutching and massaging the lack of muscle as best he could, trying to stave off the worst of it until they brought his meds. He tried thinking of something else, anything else. Whether Wilson would visit him when he was calmer, what Cuddy was doing right now, if she somehow knew what he'd conveniently forgotten to tell her about his hallucinations. What he'd say to her when he got out, if she wanted him to say anything at all.
The pain cut through most of his thoughts, even the ones he didn't consciously try to think about. The only thought that really seemed to take his mind off the leg for even a minute was the thought that he was doing this partly for her. He could still hear Wilson's question to him: "Would you rather be the man with the answers, or the man with Cuddy?"
'Well,' House thought sardonically, 'does this answer your question, Jimmy?' Sucking in a harsh breath and curling into a ball under the thin blanket, he certainly hoped so. This was pure hell, and he hated every second of it.
But it would all be worth it. Every painful minute of it would reward him with the respect of his best friend and the ability to practice medicine again.
…I'd like to believe in the healing hands of time…
It was about eleven am a few days later when he realized the pain in his leg had dulled considerably. House allowed himself another deep sigh of relief. He was clean. Sober. Free of his psychosis. And he could leave. He was going to leave. That's all there was to it. He'd done what he came to do, and now he had to go back to work.
He'd have to ask Wilson to clear out his apartment, get rid of every last trace of the drugs… remove the temptation entirely. That is, if his best friend hadn't done so already. If he had, well, he'd have to thank him. If his old stash of Vicodin was still there, scattered throughout the apartment, he'd have to crash with Wilson to avoid re-establishing the habit.
Detoxing once sucked. Doing it again wasn't even worth considering. Not to mention the hallucinations would come back. Which was at the very bottom of his wish list.
Going home to his friends, though… He couldn't wait to get back to Princeton and his piano and bike and his patients.
…But the truth is, I really can't say…
…Were they seriously forcing him to stay there? He was fine! He was better! He could go back to work…could go back to people that actually cared about him. Couldn't they see that he hated it here? Couldn't they tell he wasn't crazy? That he was clean? Not in so much pain he couldn't concentrate? He didn't even have to lean too heavily on his cane anymore.
He did everything he could think of to get them to let him go, let him leave this prison. His roommate was driving him to the point of the insanity they all obviously thought he possessed. Nothing worked. And no one had come to see him. No one had come to talk to him, see how he was doing.
No one from the outside seemed to care as much as they said they did. He couldn't even call Wilson to talk, to catch up, to see what had changed while he'd been locked away in this prison of crazies.
…If I'm getting better or just used to the pain….
It was true, he realized as he hung up the phone and leaned his head back against the wall. He was alone. Wilson wouldn't help him. Wilson wouldn't come and see him. Wilson probably wouldn't even come to pick him up when his iron-fisted doctor finally decided to let him go
Whenever that would be…
House sighed in frustration as he pushed away from the wall to head back up to his room.
Part 2 of this chapter will more than likely be up tomorrow because I'm fighting a migraine headache at the moment...so, you know the drill, read, review, make me happy XD