A White Horse Named Vicodin

Part 2

House set his plate on the coffee table. He couldn't swallow another bite. He was getting nauseous again.

He didn't know why his leg pain wouldn't ease. Like Wilson with his patient he was doing everything he could. He took the ibuprofen and used heat on the muscle. Ice would increase the cramping so that was out. He had already tried a hot bath.

"What the hell am I suppose to do?" he asked no one.

He looked over at the telephone and thought of calling Cuddy. She would be home with her daughter and with Lucas. It was a legitimate excuse to get her to the loft but he didn't need her pity. Her body yes.

He smiled at the thought.

It was quickly wiped off his face by a horrible cramp.

He cried out in pain. His hands fumbled under the heating pad to get to his leg and massage the muscle with everything he had in him.

For the second time tears wet his face. His forehead and body became moist with sweat.

House writhed unable to stop the pain. His heart pounded in his chest. He threw his head back on the couch screaming in agony.

Where were the neighbors? Were they all deaf? He needed help, now! He bellowed to God.

"LEAVE ME ALONE YOU MISERABLE BASTARD!"

House fought every second that ticked on the clock. He lay over on his side clutching his leg. He cried like a mother who had lost their young child.

The pain began to ease. House found he could swallow again. He could draw a breath. His chest was less tight and his heart began to settle slowly into a less frantic beat.

Thank God.

House sat up carefully. He used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat and tears from his face. The pain wasn't gone. His leg still hurt him horribly but it was better than the torture he had just experienced.

"I swear I'll never bring another thing from my apartment over here. I won't put anything away. I'll leave my things on the floor. I'll never be on my feet longer than it takes me to pee. I promise," House said to any invisible entity that might be listening.

He didn't believe in spirits and divinity but at a time like this it didn't pay to hedge his bets.

"If you leave me alone I'll face east, light candles, cover my head, take communion, wear a pentagram, be born again, burn incense, collect at airports and go on a pilgrimage. Anything you want. Just let my leg alone."

He replaced the heating pad he had knocked off when he had lain on his side. House closed his eyes. What if the excruciating pain came back?

What the hell am I going to do?

There was a buzzing sound. House opened his eyes. He heard it again.

That's weird.

It sounded again.

He could swear it was the couch.

House dug down into the cushions and pulled out his cell phone.

There you are. I thought I lost you for good.

He opened it up and read a text from Wilson.

'Don't know how long I'll be. It's getting close.'

House returned Wilson's text.

'K'

Why he didn't tell Wilson how bad things were with him House didn't know. He knew Wilson would come back if House asked him.

Why don't I tell him?

It wasn't that House thought the family needed Wilson more. Wilson holding a dying woman's hand wasn't going to save her. It wasn't going to lessen the grief of her family. It wasn't going alleviate Wilson's guilt.

He can't do anything for me just like he can't do anything for that dying woman except be with her.

That's what House wanted, someone to be there with him. Someone to care when the pain was at it's worst.

I'm pathetic. I don't need anyone to hold my hand. I need my pain taken away.

House held his phone in his hand and looked at it. His leg had twice this morning been so bad he thought he'd die. He had tried everything he could to ease his pain. He had tried everything available to him. There was only one other thing to do and that scared him.

He stared at the phone. He could see Wilson's angry disappointed face. He heard Dr. Nolan asking him why he had given up. Cuddy was looking at him with large moist eyes and repeating his name. House. House. House.

Yes I'm weak! I can't stand the pain. None of you understand what it's like!

House flipped through the list of numbers in his cellular phonebook. Some of them were on his speed dial like Wilson and Cuddy. He had his team assigned as well. Just pushing one number saved time. Three was for Chase, four for Foreman and thirteen for Thirteen of course. Taub was 74678. It spelled short.

He paged through the numbers quickly. He came upon it and stopped.

Scott.

House took a deep breath. Would he remember House? Was he still at that number?

House put the number in and pushed the call button. He waited for an answer.

"This is Scott."

"This is James."

"James. It's been a long time."

"I need some help."

"How much help?"

"What would fifty get me?"

"The minimum. Times are hard you know."

"Not as hard as here. One hundred?"

"I can get you a small amount."

"One fifty then."

"One fifty and you'll be comfortably numb for a good amount of time."

"Two hundred if you get here in less than thirty."

"I can do that."

House gave Scott the address and hung up the phone. He wondered idly what Scott's last name was. It didn't matter.

He took a deep breath. He knew he wasn't doing the right thing. He was doing the only thing. Didn't that make it right? It was his body and his pain. Why did it have to be anyone's business but his own?

House shifted on the couch. Not only was his leg vexing him so was his conscience.

He thought again about calling Cuddy. She would tell him he was wrong. She would urge him to think more carefully about his choice.

She would call Wilson.

That brought him back to square one.

Damn it! This is my decision. This is my body and my brain.

He exhaled through his nose.

And my hallucinations.

House rubbed his eyes. His leg pain was easing off. Calling Scott had seemed like such a good idea fifteen minutes ago. Now he wasn't as sure.

He rubbed his thigh and thought that things were easier before he went to Mayfield. If you discounted that whole losing his mind thingy then he was coping pretty well thank you so much. The hallucinating dead colleagues was a setback he admit but in the grand scheme of things…

In the grand scheme of things I ended up in a padded room.

He tried to get to his feet. He tried five times to get to his feet. He nearly succeeded on the fifth. He regained the couch panting hard.

If at first you don't succeed, give up. No use being a damn fool about it. I think W.C. Fields said that. He also hated kids and animals. A delightful man in many ways and one I could emulate easily. However…

House pushed himself up until he was bent double. He straightened himself until he was standing.

See nothing to it. It just required a little ganas amigo. That's all it takes. That and the need to pee very badly.

House limped a couple of steps. His leg held him and the cramping didn't become worse. He picked up his cane and headed for the bathroom. Like before he used the wall to support himself. This time was a little easier. House washed his hands and limped to the kitchen.

He was happier now that he didn't feel the need to gnaw his leg off like a badger caught in a trap. He opened the refrigerator.

The inside was so neat with everything in its place that House had to snicker.

Lets see. This is arranged by alpha. No it's by size. No I've got it, there are outlines of everything like my grandfather had on the pegboard in his garage. The hammer goes here, the pliers there.

House moved the milk and located the gold in this neatly organized mine.

Blue Moon. Come to daddy.

He pulled the bottle out of the refrigerator. He was about to put the milk back on the shelf when he stopped and put it in the door just to irritate Wilson and because it was fun. Opening the bottle and taking a swallow he glanced at the clock. It was 11:00 A.M.

Well it's 2:00 A. M. in a dingy bar somewhere in the universe.

He took another swallow while he limped back to the couch.

He almost sat down when he remembered Scott. He had agreed to two hundred.

Two hundred! It's amazing how you'll let yourself be exploited when you're ready to put a gun in your mouth.

House set the beer on the coffee table. He limped to Wilson's bedroom.

House cast his eyes about the room. He went to the bedside table closest to the wall. He opened the drawer and found a book, Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'. House opened it. There it was. Right where he expected to find it.

House pulled out two hundred dollars leaving three behind. He read from the page.

'Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.'

Wilson had chosen the passage to reinforce the remorse House was to feel if he simply helped himself. There was only one thing wrong with Wilson's strategy. House wasn'tLaertes and Wilson wasn't Polonius.

House replaced the book and put the money in his pocket. He limped back to the living room.

It's not like I won't pay it back. Eventually. This is an emergency. Why else would Wilson keep that much in his drawer? It's not there just to cover pizza deliveries.

House returned to the couch. He sat carefully and picked up his beer. It was funny how well it washed down the pancakes from earlier. It must be the hint of orange in it. Wasn't that like a large glass of juice?

Maybe Ihop should hear about this? They'd sell more breakfasts if they got a liquor license. What goes better with waffles, red, white or a nice Chianti?

House rubbed his thigh. It was much better; there was no way to deny that. Now instead of wishing he were dead he was only in terrible pain. That was an improvement. He actually thought about talking Wilson into taking in a movie. Well maybe that was a little too ambitious for today. There was basketball and in a pinch baseball on the television.

House took another drink from his beer. He heard someone at the door.

Good old Scott. Right on time.

House was setting his beer down and getting ready to stand when the door opened and Wilson walked in. He looked over at House.

"She went quickly. She was in a morphine haze and it was as pain free as I could make it."

He looked a House and crinkled his brow. Something about the look on House's face puzzled him.

"You okay?" He looked at the bottle. "I can understand you drinking when you're in pain but this is early even for you. Is that your first one?"

"Yeah," House answered.

He couldn't hide the fact that Wilson being home already was more than inconvenient.

Oh my God what's he doing home now?

Wilson was worried. House looked shocked to see him.

What's going on with him? Wilson wondered.

He set his keys down and walked to the kitchen. Wilson opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Shaking his head he took the milk from the door and replaced it on the shelf.

"I'll join you. This morning was a little rough," he said opening the bottle.

Wilson walked back into the living room when there was a knock on the door. He set his beer down on the coffee table and went to answer it.