It took time to explain the whole story to the police, of course. Tritter was hauled off to the hospital to be checked (with House specifying not PPTH) and Lucas to jail, both under arrest just based on the initial statements from House and Chase, but an officer stayed behind to get the full tale. He then watched the whole thing recorded and stored on line by the webcam, as well as downloading that video to a flash drive and also directly to police headquarters as evidence, with himself, House, and Chase signing an evidence ticket certifying the source of it. Finally, he was gone with a request that House and Chase both come down to the station the next day to sign their transcribed statements. An officer had already been dispatched to the loft to pick up Sam Carr for processing.
House leaned back into the couch cushions and closed his eyes as the door shut. He was vindicated, with no chance now that he would lose his license or his job, but there was no rush of victory. Cuddy and Wilson both had some hard facts to face, and he also himself had to admit that he had enabled the trio to sabotage him. Without his drinking, none of this would have happened.
Hands probed gently along the side of his head, where it had whacked against the coffee table leg during the fight, and he opened his eyes and pulled away slightly. "I'm okay," he protested.
Chase didn't look convinced. "Your breathing is still a little bit accelerated," he said. He pulled out a penlight and flashed it into House's eyes. "You've already got a bruise showing up on that temple. Don't think you have a concussion, but even aside from the leg, you're kind of banged up. I missed the very last bit of the fight because I was running over from the next block after I called 911, but you can see on video that he got you a few hard blows in the ribs." He palpated along the left side of House's chest, and House flinched, his breath hissing in sharply. "I think you need x-rays. Make sure there's not a fracture irritating a lung."
"I'm FINE, Chase," House snapped.
Chase shook his head. "Nope, if you suddenly developed a pneumothorax tonight and died after I left, I'd lose my job. Totally selfish motives here, but humor me." House grinned weakly in appreciation. "You also need something for the leg; I can tell it's giving you hell."
"Got ibuprofen here." For all that was worth.
Chase flinched. "That's not strong enough. Seriously, House, there are stronger non narcotic options. Have you even seen a pain management specialist in the last year?"
House shook his head. "Nope. I learned at Mayfield that most of my problems were just in my head, after all." His tone was bitter.
"Bullshit." Chase took his pulse. "They're psychiatrists and social workers; understanding the medical side of chronic pain isn't their forte. And your heart rate is easily over 100."
"Hot bath will loosen it up," House suggested, then trailed off, remembering that his bathtub was full of broken glass.
"If we go to the hospital, I'll check you out myself," Chase offered. "We won't have to go through the crowd in ER. It's 2:00 a.m.; nobody else has to be involved."
House sighed and closed his eyes again. He did feel pummeled, he was having slight difficulty breathing against the ribs, and his leg was absolutely screaming. "Okay."
Chase stood up. "I'll go get you another shirt that doesn't have alcohol spilled all over it for dramatic effect." That also would give him a better chance for a preliminary look at any torso damage to plan what needed to be checked out at the hospital.
"Thanks," House replied. He still had his eyes closed. Maybe it could all be over now, for him at least.
Wilson and Cuddy. His eyes snapped open. They deserved a heads up before getting the news by a call from their respective partners from jail. Of course, if Wilson had been home, he would have seen them come for Sam anyway, but maybe he was out with a patient again. House whipped out the cell phone and flinched again at the stab in his side. Maybe Chase had a point and x-rays wouldn't be a bad idea.
He dialed Cuddy first, not even thinking about the choice. He would call Wilson, but he would call her first. She answered the phone, sounding not sleepy at all. Probably had been lying awake in bed wondering what, if anything, was happening over here. "House?"
"Cuddy, I wanted to tell you before you hear it from the police. Lucas is under arrest."
He heard the mattress creak and then the click of the bedside lamp. "He really did . . ." She trailed off, but he heard the growing guilt beneath the shock.
"He and Sam and Tritter as a bonus. They were all working together. I've got it on video; you can watch it later if you want. And Chase was watching from his car as backup a block over; he'll confirm." He was afraid she'd believe he was hallucinating again.
"Tritter?" Her voice was incredulous. "Oh, God, House, I'm sorry. Lucas was feeding him information from me, wasn't he?"
"Fraid so."
Over his shoulder, he heard Chase coming back into the living room. "Okay, House, let's head for the hospital."
Cuddy overheard. "For the hospital?" Odd, he thought. She sounded even more upset at that than she had at any point in the conversation so far.
"Just precautions. Chase is being overprotective of his job. I'm fine," House said quickly.
"Let me talk to him," she insisted.
"Got to go. I still have to call Wilson."
"House." He sighed and passed the phone over, and Chase handed him the clean T-shirt in exchange.
"Hi, Cuddy. . . He's kind of banged up, and I think he may have a few cracked ribs. Plus straining the leg, of course. Hit his head, but I don't think he's got a concussion. I don't think he's seriously hurt . . . I'll check him out, I promise . . . Yes, Tritter was here. He's the one who got violent; Lucas was just a spectator. House took him down before I could help, though. . . Right, I will. See you there." Chase ended the call and eyed House, who had spent that interval struggling to remove his T-shirt. His ribs didn't like him lifting his left arm. Chase silently put a hand on the recalcitrant shirt, offering to help him, and after a few seconds, House relaxed in resignation. Chase carefully worked it off, being careful to not move House's arms any more than he had to, and then whistled softly at the blossoming bruises in a few locations, mainly along the ribs on the left. House looked down, surprised himself.
"Cuddy's going to meet us at the hospital," Chase said, taking visual census of the injuries but not directly saying anything about them.
"She doesn't have to do that."
"She's feeling guilty."
House shrugged and winced. "Of course she's feeling guilty. That's what Cuddy does with everything. It's a reflex." Chase looked at him skeptically. "I've got to call Wilson."
"Okay." Chase helped slip the clean T-shirt on, then backed away, and House hit speed dial 2.
"Did you give up, House?" The oncologist sounded impatient as he answered.
"You're not home, are you?"
"No, I'm at the hospital to give Sam an opportunity to sneak out, although I'm sure she's in bed."
"Wrong. I'm sure she's arrested by now."
Absolute silence for several seconds. "Arrested?" Wilson sputtered. "She actually came over there?"
"No, but she was in on it. Lucas and Tritter came."
"Tritter?" House could hear Wilson's increasing agitation on the phone.
"Sam and Lucas have been feeding Tritter information as to the dates of the tests. They all planned framing me together. Tritter wanted to give me the pills himself; he apparently did night before last; managed to stop him tonight."
"All three of them?" Wilson was still floundering.
"Right. I've got video, if you want to watch it later; Lucas talks directly to Sam on it. And Chase was watching live."
Wilson sighed. "So the whole thing really was a setup."
"Yes."
He could almost hear the oncolgoist's shoulders slumping. "I . . . I can't believe it."
"I'll send you the video."
"No, I mean . . . I wasn't saying you were lying . . . I just . . .it's a lot to wrap my head around." Wilson was still scrambling mentally. "I'm sorry, House."
"Yeah, me too. Got to go." House hit end.
Chase looked at him, trying to hide the sympathy. "Wilson having trouble believing it?"
"Yeah. I don't think he thinks I'm hallucinating, but he'll take a while to get a handle on everything. I'm sure he'll be around full of remorse tomorrow." And when he did, what would House do? Right now, he felt much more like actually making a go of living in his apartment than moving back in with his friend who had tossed him out on his ear, then refused to believe him.
"We need to get to the hospital," Chase prompted. House nodded and reached for his cane. "One more thing, House."
"Why not? Surely this night has room for one more thing in it."
Chase grinned disarmingly. "I just wanted to say, for the last month I've been going to . . . meetings. Every Tuesday night. You're welcome to come along with me if you want."
House stared at him. Yes, actually, Chase's drinking, threatening to spiral out of control after Dibala, had been better lately, karoke night slip-ups aside. The hangover mornings from Chase were less frequent. The thought of going to a support group still set his teeth on edge, but he could no longer deny after the last few days that he had a problem. "I might do that," he said softly.
Chase nodded. "We can grab a burger or something on the way, maybe. And really, they aren't as painful as I was afraid they would be." He stepped back, switching to pure professionalism. "Let's go."
House painfully picked himself up out of the couch cushions and limped heavily toward the door, Chase following.
