It smelled…clinical. Not quite the same as a nursing home, but damned near close. The stench of disinfectant pierced his nose the second he walked in, and though he had already become accustomed to it, he was very much aware that the smell was unlike that of a regular hospital. And it was quiet. Too quiet. Disturbingly quiet. For a psych facility, House expected to hear screaming or mumbling, maybe head banging, but he heard nothing. He wondered if he was unconsciously blocking out the sounds or if it was really that quiet. It was the kind of quiet where nothing else exists, where the only sound is that of one's own breathing.
With detox imminent, he stood by the barred window in the "lounge" as they called it, looking at the rain filled clouds. He felt the first twinges of a sour stomach and the sweats were not far behind. Not 24 hours of illusion, not capped by fantastic sex, or even the illusion of it, but rather puking-painful-panicking-putrid detox, and the knowledge of what was to come filled his every waking thought.
He'd grown bored with watching the other "residents" as they were called. Most were too deep in their own world to carry on anything resembling a conversation, not that he was particularly interested in talking with anyone, anyway. He'd diagnosed one unknowingly pregnant nurse during the first hour, swallowed pills handed to him in a small paper cup the second, and soon afterwards spotted a piano in the far side of the lounge and made note of it for later. He thankfully had a private room, larger than he'd expected. The mattress was thin, the pillow flat and like everything else, it smelled clinical. If he wasn't insane before he entered the hospital, House was certain he would be by the time he left.
There was thankfully a small window in his room, barred as with all the others, but it was better than nothing. Again he stood peering out at the world, trapped in his own mind, in a psych ward. House wondered what he did to ever deserve any of it. And there, in the corner of his room, stood Kutner, ever watchful. Amber seemed to flutter by once in a while, sometimes lounging on the bed, other times hovering near Kutner.
"I brought a friend," Amber said, waltzing into the room after she'd been gone briefly.
"Hey," a familiar voice whispered.
"Did you find my sanity in the car or are you here to rescue me?" House remained focused on the cloudy sky in front of him, ignoring Amber and refusing to face Wilson.
"Thought you might like some company." Wilson remained rooted to his spot.
"You just left. You couldn't wait even a day?" House said, growing impatient. "I haven't cheated yet."
"I know."
"The pull of the insane asylum just too much for you? Couldn't stay away?" House spat.
"No. I'm here for you."
House sighed deeply, and trying to ignore Wilson's reason for being there, he picked up his suitcase, placed it on the bed and began to mindlessly unpack. "It smells like disinfectant," House said, his best attempt at an apology.
"It does." Wilson smiled. "I thought I'd hang around for a while. You okay with that?"
House turned to look at his friend. "It's your sanity. The longer you stay, the more likely you won't be able to leave."
"Some would say our friendship is a sign of my insanity," Wilson said with a smirk.
House chuckled, nodding only just. "Just leave before I start puking. Detox isn't pretty." House picked up his shirts and stuffed them into a drawer.
"It's for your own good."
"How did you get them to let you in here?" House said, looking at Wilson with a furrowed brow.
"It wasn't difficult."
House eyed him, growing more suspicious. "Do they know you're here?"
Wilson shrugged.
House held his breath, the color draining from his face almost instantly. "You're not here," he sighed.
Wilson placed his hands on his hips, feet set apart, donning his superhero pose. "And what would make you say that?"
"You're too much of a goody-goody to break in and visitors aren't allowed in patient rooms. Perfect. Now I'm not just hallucinating the dead."
"Maybe you're hallucinating those you care for?"
"I never cared for Amber."
"So, you admit you cared for Kutner?"
House narrowed his eyes. "Oh clever. I never said that."
"And if you didn't care for Amber, then why did you practically kill yourself trying to find out who she was?"
"Because, you idiot, I didn't do it for her I did it for…." House's voice trailed off. "This is stupid. This is why I'm here. I'm talking to myself."
Wilson seemed to float to Amber's side; he looked at her with a sad expression, though somehow he still smiled. Absentmindedly, Wilson glanced at Kutner before finally settling on House. "Are you?"
_______
House watched her momentarily before he made his way to the small table set up in what was originally intended as an exam room. Now it served as a visitor's room, complete with a warden sitting in the far corner. She smiled up at him, steeling herself for what was sure to be a brief visit, one she wished she didn't have reason to make.
House sat down, flanked by Amber on one side and Kutner on the other. Wilson stood behind him, his hand coming to rest on House's shoulder. If he hadn't been out of his mind, House thought the trio almost felt protective. Comfortable. Safe. They were, essentially, his cushion, providing a barrier between his reality and what was actual.
"How are you?" she asked. It was habit, a stupid one. She could clearly see he was in the throes of detox. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face, pooling beneath his chin and on his ears before dripping down onto his wrinkled shirt. He smelled vaguely of vomit, his breathing haggard, his limp weaker than usual.
House leaned forward and locked eyes with Cuddy. She held his stare, though she wanted nothing more than to look away. He studied her in his unrelenting gaze, gleaning the truth from her eyes. He nodded. And there, in the dimly lit room of a psych ward, he knew. The truth he had known before she arrived was confirmed.
Cuddy rested her hands on top of House's as the pair sat opposite one another at the table. She tried to keep her voice steady, tried to be strong. For him. "House," she took a breath before continuing. "The roads were wet-"
House shook his head, holding his hand up to stop her. He closed his eyes as Wilson squeezed his shoulder, tipping his chin down, unable to look at her any longer. And when he finally found his voice, he spoke just barely above a whisper.
"I know."