House/CI Crossover

For three weeks I was locked in the loony bin swallowing anti-psychotics by the handful and reluctantly pretending the staff psychiatrist wasn't a complete idiot. I was compliant. Compliant enough that Kutner shook his head in disbelief and Amber jeered at how Cuddy had finally gotten her revenge. The Vicodin was long gone from my system but my ghostly stalkers wouldn't leave.

Life on the psych ward was amazingly dull. As delusions went, Amber had become a bore. Kutner's occasional drop-ins hadn't led to any fires or explosions, a major disappointment. Mayfield attracted a less than stellar cast of shizoids and psychotics to distract me from the pain that the medical staff here undermedicated. I'd found no one to capture my interest. Until Goren showed up.

The first time I saw him was across the dayroom, a copy of "Crime And Punishment" in front of him. His elbows were on the table, his hair gripped by tight fists as he slightly rocked. It seemed he'd been having little success with his drugs, as well. Teeth clenched, he mumbled angrily. "No!" he finally called out. He glanced around awkwardly and put his head down. He closed his eyes.

Without looking away from "All My Children," Amber announced, "Cuckoo at two o 'clock. Could get interesting."

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His head continued shaking as his outburst escalated. "No, no, no, no, No, NO, NO!" He shouted at the empty chair in front of him and turned instantly to protect himself from the orderly who approached. "Don't touch me!" He screamed and pushed the man into a nearby table, two other patients falling to the ground. "You're all working for her!" He accused, pointing to the ground. More orderlies approached with a nurse to hold him down for an injection. He struggled fruitlessly. "Stop it," he moaned as they pulled him up. He tried to gain a footing before he drifted off, legs dragging down the hall as he was manhandled to his room.

"Cool!" I recognized the voice and turned to catch a grinning Kutner staring after the disappearing patient. He looked over at me. "If you're gonna spend time with the crazies, it's good there's at least one who isn't totally boring. This guy has possibilities, don't you think?"

I shrugged. I was bored enough to want to banter with my hallucinations but sane enough to realize why it would be a bad idea. I stared at Kutner -- a living, breathing Kutner I had created. Did God feel the same disbelief as he looked at all the idiosyncratic beings walking and talking and believing they were more than the product of his imagination? Did he wish he could make them all go away? I wanted to believe that when confronted by the most grotesque, cruel and perverse specimens of humanity, he'd sit back in awe and say, "Cool!"

A god created in my own likeness: there was a supreme being I could believe in. And much more interesting than the standard issue Omnipotents most people seemed to favor.

The real Kutner could have entertained me with sci-fi inspired riffs on possible gods and demons all afternoon. But my Kutner was a master of silence, a presence who reminded me of the puzzle I hadn't spotted, let alone solved. His stare challenged me, goaded me, insinuated there was an answer I had overlooked. It was maddening.

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The next time I saw Goren was at lunch, Kutner perched on the table beside him, closely observing. Goren stared at a spot next to me, chewing his bottom lip, oblivious to everything around him. "Ask him if she's here," Kutner suggested. "It could be fun."

I shook my head, content to watch unobserved from the next table.

Goren spoke quietly, his lips forming words distinctly. "He told her to leave his brother out of it," Kutner shouted back to me. I waved my hand to show I'd heard on my own. It was unsettling for Kutner to shout in the man's ear without provoking any response. I wanted to tell Kutner to leave the poor bastard alone but when had I ever let a respect for someone's privacy get in the way of my curiosity?

I moved to the table where Goren sat, head hanging. He buried his face in his palms and rubbed his temples. Sighing, he rested his chin on his palm and looked at the spot beside me. He glanced to the side and his expression changed suddenly as he realized our eyes had met. He stared at me momentarily before turning back to her. He looked surprised and glanced around. Apparently, she was gone. His eyes shifted back to me and we were staring at each other.

I looked around the room for my own doppelganger but Amber was nowhere in sight. "My cut-throat bitch seems to have taken the afternoon off. Yours?" I asked with the utmost seriousness.

He looked around, too. "She's gone away now. Could be back any minute, though." He took a drink of water. "She difficult to get rid of?"

"Mine?" I asked. Goren nodded. "Yeah. I killed her and she still hounds me on a daily basis. She won't stay dead."

He nodded casually, non-judgmental. "How'd you kill her?"

"Wilson says I pushed her in front of a bus with my name on it. Apparently the Angel of Death can't tell a beautiful young blonde woman from an old gray-haired cripple. Go figure."

He chuckled and raised an eyebrow, nodding. "Who's Wilson?"

"A combination Robin, Tonto and Lassie rolled into one. A devoted sidekick and faithful companion -- except when he bites." Kutner snorted.

"That would make you Batman, The Lone Ranger and little Timmy all rolled into one, wouldn't it?" He eyed me skeptically as if looking for a resemblance.

"Nope." I gestured to the other patients. "I'm sure they're around here somewhere, though."

He smiled. "He seems poorly matched for a sidekick," he observed. "You're The Odd Couple."

I looked at Kutner smirking on the sidelines and decided it was time to change the subject. "So tell me. What brings you to our little loony bin?" No one would mistake my feigned brightness for good cheer.

He shuffled uncomfortably. "It's a long story," he started. I watched him scratch his neck. His eyes wandered as he bit his lip again. He shrugged as if he was attempting to shake off his skin. There was hardly any comfort. "I've got my own beautiful blonde. She's exhausting."

"Tell me about her," I encouraged him. Somebody else's delusion -- anybody else's delusion -- had to be more stimulating than continued interaction with my own.

"For a minute there, you sounded almost like you cared!" Kutner commented, half-amazed and half-impressed. "It's a good look for you. I'd file that for future reference. You know, when you need to impersonate a compassionate doctor with a pleasing bedside manner."

"She's a serial killer," he curtly replied. "One of my obsessions."

"Oh oh!!" Kutner laughed. "You've got a live one here!"

I squinted at Goren. Somehow I'd thought there was a more personal connection behind the hallucination. "So, not someone you know personally?" Obsession was an interesting word.

"I knew her." He frowned. "The one that got away. Over and over again."

"Got away?"

"I'm a detective," he supplied. "Major case. New York City. Or I was, anyway. I'm not sure they'll take me back."

I nodded, wondering if it was all part of one grand delusion. "Female serial killers are kind of rare, aren't they?"

"Extremely. And fascinating. She was..." he trailed and chuckled. "She was sharp. Sharp as me. Smarter."

I wondered how smart he really was. Plenty of time to figure it out. At the moment, he was dropping interesting clues. "Was?" I asked. "I thought you said she got away?"

"She did. And someone else caught up to her. Killed her." He stared off across the room as he spoke. "I guess she wasn't immortal after all."

"Unquestionably dead ... and yet somehow still a problem?" I muttered. Kutner chuckled softly.

"I guess I don't take losing very well."

"Wow! Is he ever talking to the right guy! You two should start your own two-person support group. Obsessively-driven psychos are us! I wonder if his IQ is high enough to match wits with you on a regular basis? Maybe you've found a playmate, House!" Kutner's glee was irritating. Never mock a mocker.

I turned back to Goren wondering what else we had in common. "So is she your only imaginary friend or do you have other visitors your shrink finds questionable?"

"There's my brother. My father. My partner, but only since I got here. You?"

"One. He's sitting right next to you providing color commentary. Normally he's fairly quiet."

He smiled. "What's he like?"

"Total geek. Could speak Klingon fluently and treasured his collection of Star Wars action figures. He used to work for me."

Kutner looked insulted. "That's how you choose to describe me? Not 'brilliant with a naive charm' or 'tragically haunted by his past.' I'm hurt," he pouted.

"What do you do?" Goren had asked, talking right over Kutner. I shifted my attention back to him.

"I'm the head of Diagnostics at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Or was last I checked...."

Again, he nodded, apparently his primary mode of communication. "It's difficult to tell whether they'll let you keep working. Which is absurd if you consider that they force you into treatment."

I thought of how I'd almost killed Chase, of how listening to Amber had led me to misdiagnose patients. For once, I wasn't fighting treatment. I just wished it were more effective. Three weeks had produced no improvement. I still couldn't trust my own brain, my own senses.

"Head of Diagnostics." He gestured around the room. "You must hate all of this."

"Psychiatry is a primitive science. When we come to understand the organic cause of abnormal behaviors, they get shifted away to other specialties. Psychiatry is the repository of all we don't understand about the brain -- and that treatment consists of throwing poorly-understood drugs at the problem and hoping it goes away without destroying other essential brain functions. Bad chemistry mixed together with quasi-religious faith in the healing power of words -- that's the best a shrink can offer. And I'm desperate enough to sign myself in and let them have a go at the only thing that means anything to me -- my brain -- because it's not working right anymore and I can't think of anything else to try." I paused. "Yeah. I hate all this."

I heard a loud clapping sound from across the room. Amber was walking towards me, mocking me with applause. "Really really hate it," I repeated.

"My mom spent her whole life in and out of therapy. Nothing much ever came of it. But I keep telling myself it was her stubbornness that made everything so difficult." He cleared his throat. "I agree. This is guesswork, not science. But it's fascinating."

I shrugged. "I'm not so fascinated," I admitted.

He smiled half a smile. "I'm more fascinated than I was before you started talking."

"I think he's flirting with you!" Amber's disapproval was clear.

"Cool!" Kutner grinned. "Are you gonna cheat on Wilson?"

"Will you two shut up?"

Goren seemed to understand that my comment was directed elsewhere. "She's back?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah."

"Amazing what these anti-psychotics can't do for you."

I sighed, understanding, as I rubbed my thigh. The pain was creeping up again. "I used to believe in the power of the mind to cure itself." I waited for his nod to show he was following me. "And yet recognizing that Amber and Kutner are only products of my subconscious has done nothing to make them go away." I shook my head in disgust. "Talking to my shrink is consulting a witch doctor. We're looking for the magic words to make it all disappear."

Suddenly, Goren's sarcastic smirks and smiles were replaced by a grin of genuine understanding. Kutner winked at me.

Goren replied. "We come looking for magic and all we get is a posse of self-appointed authority figures and demeaning platitudes."

I couldn't help thinking of Tritter. "Since when do cops have a problem with authority figures?"

He laughed. "Most cops are really respectful of titles and authority figures. It's like the military in that respect. That's how the game is played." He shook his head self-deprecatingly. "I'm a misfit. A loner. I question authority. I respect it when it's been earned but I'm not afraid to buck it when the situation calls for it." He reached for the water on his tray. He seemed to be searching for the words to continue. "I feel like I work alone, sometimes, which makes no sense if I think about it. I'm constantly brainstorming with my partner and she's always with me. Somehow by the time I get home, though, every accomplishment sort of feels like my own. Not that I disrespect her or consider her 'uninvolved.' Her approval is the one that counts. I feel like I've achieved something if I've pleased her. She's my authority. I miss her when she's not around."

Kutner gave me a quizzical look. "I wonder just how smart this guy is. It sounds like he uses his partner the way you use your team -- as a sounding board, mostly. Except, of course, for the part about considering anyone else your 'authority.'"

I ignored Kutner and focused on Goren instead. "When is she not around?" I wondered if there was more going on between him and his partner than departmental policy allowed.

"All the time right now." He shrugged. "She's my family. You get very attached to a person whose life is in your hands."

"Is that why you won't let us go, House?" Amber whispered in his ear. "Are you too attached to let us go?" She smiled tauntingly. "Did you miss us so much you had to resurrect us? That does play into your God complex rather nicely." She tapped her finger on her lip as she glanced at Kutner. "There would have been no reason for him to off himself if he'd known he'd just be stuck with you in death as he was in life."

"Assuming that was really him -- which it isn't," I couldn't help saying.

I turned back to Goren, gesturing helplessly. "Sometimes she sucks me in. You understand. I'd be impressed at her ability to push all the right buttons if I didn't know she's only me in drag."

His head cocked to the side. "Who is she talking about?"

"The other one. And how he can't escape me -- even in death. They're both dead."

"Did you throw him under a bus?"

I pretended to laugh. "No. He threw himself under -- metaphorically speaking."

"You must've been close," he ventured cautiously, "for him to still be around. Were you?"

I shrugged and rubbed my thigh, which hurt like hell. Looking down at the tasteless remains of my untouched lunch, I realized I was done. "I need to move around," I said through clenched teeth as I pulled myself up to a standing position. Leaving the tray on the table, I headed for the door.