Set after "Merry Little Christmas" or "Merry Little Christian," whatever it's called. House/Stacy of course. Lots of angst and drama for those who love it and those who deep down really love it. Come on, admit it, you know you want to.
Anyways! Here's my new story. The title is from a song called "Cherry Waves" and it's by The Deftones. The song is all about trust for those of you who have never heard it or didn't know. The lyrics can be found on my profile under favorites.
Cherry Waves
by Jay
It's dark. It's always dark here. Alone, I stumble through reality and try to find something in myself that just doesn't seem to be there anymore. Whether I've lost it so deep inside of my soul, or just let it slip through my fingers when the pain was too much to bare, I have no idea. All I know is that I hate it - - the person I have become. Everyday waking up and going through the same routine of self loathing and hate, while the pain swallows my rationality, drowning it in a dark abyss of narcotics - - how did I get here? How did a bottle of pills get the best of me…..? And when did I stop being a human and start being…..this?
House awoke trembling. The hand that rest beside him inched slowly to his thigh, avoiding sharp movements to prevent any more provoking of the beast that live inside. It cut sharp, like razorblades, but with the delicious taste of agony from a chainsaw against the skin, it blinded him as a whimper caught in the back of his throat. Suffocating. Killing the birth of any breath in his lungs, the room begins to spin, raising bile to the tip of his tongue and a fresh burning to his eyes.
Hand flailing like a wounded bird so close to death, it creates a mind of its own, or maybe just out of instinct, and plunges into the drawer of the nightstand. Searching desperately, for the familiar feel of a pill bottle. Soon enough, the click of the cap echoes through the room as it falls to the floor and the pills rattle against the plastic, calling out for relief.
He downs three and it burns so bad against his throat he's almost sure he's going to gag, but for some odd reason it doesn't happen. With his mind so far from forming any thoughts at all, especially rational ones, the only thing he's able to do is lay back and wait for the pain to recede so he can function and get ready to start his day.
Ten minutes later, after the fog has cleared from his brain and the pain level has gone from "excruciating" to "tolerable excruciating," House cautiously stretches his leg in an attempt to relax the muscle. It's stiff and sore like it is every morning, but beyond comparison this has been one of the worst in a while. Slowly, he slips out from under the comforter and grabs the handle of his cane from its place under the bed. Dangerously testing the amount of pressure his leg is going to allow him this morning, as a matter a fact, maybe for the rest of the day. After finding that it will be enough to get him to the bathroom, he sets a pace and makes his way there to get a shower going. He sets the temperature so that steam has gathered on the mirror, and the air is moist and thick before he even steps inside. After all, he's going to need it scolding hot if he wants to last the rest of the day without needing a wheelchair.
Even though House knows he's already late for work, he takes his time and lets the water pound against his thigh. Occasionally pressing his foot down lightly against the shower tiles to find a pressure he'll be able to handle the rest of the day, before tending to the rest of his body.
The water stops and the door opens to reveal a large puff of steam followed by House. The pain now dropping from "tolerable excruciating" to "very tolerable excruciating," as he grabs his cane and heads back to the bedroom to get dressed.
The Hospital is so quiet for a Monday House isn't sure if it's because he's avoiding everyone or everyone's avoiding him. He is however, locked in his office with the blinds closed and the lights off so that is a point to take into consideration. Cuddy has yet to make an appearance and give him a good tongue lashing for being so late. Wilson has yet to do the same thing except with good ole Jimmy boy it will be another lecture on how he doesn't appreciate how lucky he is. Or if he doesn't do something now then his liver will be shot to hell within a year or two. Except, after a few minutes of contemplation, he remembers that Wilson will not be coming today, maybe never again.
No sweat though, he's heard it all before. Listening and taking into consideration their points more than he will ever let them know. Wondering if all of the articles and books on pain-management he reads are ever going to be enough to help him find the right pain meds and be able to live life free of an addiction. Sometimes the only way to know is diving in head first. Falling before you can get back up and say you know what it feels like. Consideration, it's all House seems to think about when alone with his own thoughts for to long. To fall, or end it all. It's ironic how that rhythms. Maybe because their so close together in meaning to his situation. Either way, he knows something has to be done, he's just not sure if the natural stubbornness he posses will allow him to do so.
It's two o'clock when House officially makes his presence known in the hospital. After spending three hours of complete solitude in his office doing nothing but playing PSP, his stomach begins to sound like the engine on a monster truck, and he starts having second thoughts about skipping breakfast this morning.
Though it wasn't really much of a choice. The mishap he had this morning didn't leave him with much of an appetite. Never does.
House can feel all the eyes burning across his skin as he passes by trying to get to the cafeteria, hospital staff mostly. Usually he would stop to glare. Show them that he couldn't care less what they think of him right now, though maybe he should; hell maybe he should even apologize. Only, he knows he too proud for that. To proud to let them see even a little flicker of weakness he knows they want so badly, just to be able to say that even Gregory House can screw up. Too late, he thinks, you all missed it; I already screwed up a long time ago."
The cafeteria is nearly full from what he can see as he enters the line, which is thankfully vacant. Today he's really not in the mood to deal with idiots. Aside from actually paying for his own lunch today, which includes a Ruben, chips and Red Bull, he also tries not to let the fact that the seat usually reserved for him opposite of Wilson is now filled by someone he doesn't know, probably someone he doesn't want to know.
Somehow, for some reason, the thought that he has probably been replaced doesn't seem to bother him, or at least he thinks it isn't bothering him. It doesn't matter anyways, because they haven't spoken since he got back from rehab and he fell back into the same habit of taking countless amounts of pills a day. Actually, it doesn't trouble House as much as it might have a long time ago. Partly because he doesn't blame Wilson for getting out when he did. It's much easier to deal with something when you have severed all emotional ties, much like he does when diagnosing a case; it makes him a better doctor. Maybe this will make Wilson a better person.
He exit's the cafeteria without a second glance back and is just about to step into the elevator when the sound of his name echoes around the walls. The agitation is clear on his face as he stuffs the Red Bull into his pants pocket and turns around to face Cuddy. There is a hint of something on her features and in her eyes that he can't quite place, but he's sure what ever it is he's not going to like it. Which is why he's not in the least surprised when she asks him to follow her to her office.
Of course he thinks about just turning around and carrying on with what he was doing before her interruption, but curiosity be damned he's intrigued not only by his interesting find in her, but also wants to know why it took her until now to find him. Any other day she would be hot on his heels ready to scream like a banshee.
They enter her office and he notices that she makes sure the door is closed behind them; that can't be a good sign. However, House makes himself at home on the couch that is way to comfortable to just be for show, and sinks his teeth into his sandwich to settle the pains that have now erupted from waiting to eat to long.
Cuddy watches him as he chews in silence, carefully opening his chips with one hand and slipping the Red Bull from his pocket with the other. He's seems content in finishing his lunch here as he sets up his meal on the coffee table in front of him. She ponders for a minute whether to let him eat first or say what she brought him here to say.
It's only when she opens her mouth to speak, she notices before her words even hit the air that he's studying her like he studies the white board in his office when he has a case. The fact sends a panic through her that she hopes to god isn't visibly showing itself through her body language. His stare is so intent and his eyes are boring so far into hers she starts to feel uncomfortable and vulnerable until the point where she can't take anymore violation and tears her gaze away from his.
"House," Cuddy begins.
He cringes mentally while taking another bite of his Reuben, wishing that he would have just continued to his office earlier because now, after raping her eyes, he has some clarity as to what she wants to tell him, and if she wants to say what he thinks she wants to say, then he has some interviewing to do.
"Chase isn't coming back," she continues then stops. House nods almost regretfully but doesn't look at her while taking a gulp of his drink.
"I expect you to start interviewing tomorrow; I'll be sending them in starting at nine o'clock sharp. So try to be here ON TIME." He hears her say, the exaggeration of the last part warms the back of his neck with anger and he grips his sandwich tightly. So tightly his thumb leaves a print in the bread. He fights the urge to scream at her so she will know why he was late, but instead just continues on with eating. Besides, the last time he screamed at her ultimately ended up with him apologizing in such a subtle way he wasn't if she knew he even meant it or not. If only she knew how much he had, then maybe they could go back to the way they used to be.
Cuddy left him to eat. Not feeling there was anymore to be said, though she did find it quite odd, very odd, that he didn't say a word the whole time. She would just have to ask Wilson later, right now she had a meeting with some prospective investors.
House crumbled the napkin and chips together while chugging the last of his Red Bull and tossing them all in Cuddy's trash can. He knew a long time ago that Chase wouldn't be coming back. That his long vacation was just another way of saying he was finding another job, he just wished he would have let it click in earlier than this so he could have gotten this new hiring a new duckling thing over with quicker. With Wilson not there it was going to be more boring than a Brady Bunch marathon.
Whatever, he thought trudging back to the elevator, I don't need all this sh!t today. Especially any of these imbeciles Cuddy calls a hospital staff.
The elevator stopped at the Diagnostic wing and House got out. He glared at an elderly woman as she smiled at him while passing by. Five o'clock would never come soon enough.
