TITLE: Chapter 8 Chronic
AUTHOR: new_raven
PAIRING: none yet
RATING: R-ish
WARNINGS: none
SUMMARY: Chris isn't the only one who can't cope.
DISCLAIMER: House and his pretty friends don't belong to me.
SOUNDTRACK: .com/playlist?list=PL0E97EE610F950F6A&feature=mh_lolz
Wilson's car was in the shop, and House had called at three in the morning to say he wouldn't be giving him a ride to work after all. Wilson had been annoyed, but didn't question him. It was just House, being House. Cuddy resented that House was still able to interfere with her personal life, even though he was no longer a part of it, but she didn't really mind picking up Wilson. He would have done the same for her. He was a good friend, and would almost certainly send a bottle of wine or tickets to a play, as a thank you gift, within the week.
They had walked in together, discussing the agenda for an upcoming board meeting. Cuddy's assistant approached with a handful of files and a cup of coffee. Cuddy thanked her, and perused the files, still maintaining her conversation with Wilson as they walked into her office. She handed one of the files to Wilson, and asked if he would give it to one of House's team members, to be put in the running for House's next guinea pig.
"He doesn't have a patient?" Wilson asked.
"Why is that a surprise?" Cuddy asked, as she sat behind her desk and began looking at her messages. This was House they were talking about; the only thing he avoided more than patients was her.
"He said he's been here all night."
They exchanged a glance and Cuddy made a few phone calls, first to the ER and then to House's team, to ascertain that he wasn't injured or actually doing work for a change. After a few more calls, she learned that he had been in the second floor waiting room most of the night with the family of a patient. "Sherrice Ramirez?" she asked Wilson, thinking he might recognize the name.
House had pulled another bench in front of them, to support his legs. He was playing his PSP, with the sound barely audible. Chris was curled up against him with her head in his lap. A blanket that he had draped over her back, after she fell asleep, now threatened to slip to the ground, at any moment.
He saw Wilson and Cuddy coming, and turned off the game. They didn't say a word as they approached. Both looked more puzzled than worried.
"It's not what you think," House said. "She's actually performing oral sex."
"What does that say about you?" Chris's voice was groggy. She stretched her legs and caught the blanket at the same time. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven," House told her.
"Crap, I have to go." Chris leaped up.
"Where are you going?" House asked her.
"School," she answered.
Chris offered a quick greeting to Cuddy and Wilson as she gathered her things. She wanted to thank House, but found herself suddenly shy with his friends in the room. She said her goodbyes and bolted toward the elevators, leaving House to answer their questions.
Chris came running through the lobby, still in her clothes from the day before. She'd had to make several stops on her way back to the hospital. On top of that, the bus was late and her phone was dead. Seething and feeling guilty, she almost ran right past House, as he was leaving for the day.
"Hey," he stopped her.
"Hey, have you heard anything? Did they send her upstairs?"
"They're still waiting for test results. Where have you been?" House asked. He had assumed she was avoiding the situation, when Chris hadn't been back to the hospital earlier. Now he questioned that theory, and wondered what could have kept her away all day.
"I give plasma on Mondays and Fridays, when they have extended hours. I didn't even give today, because there was an hour wait, but I had to go to the food bank too. It's the only one that's open when I'm not in school. If you miss a week, you have to do all the paperwork again, and…" Her eyes were welling with tears. "The busses … were," she sniffed and tried to catch her breath, "running … late…" Her voice totally gave out, and turned to a high-pitched squeak on the last word. She stopped and took a deep breath.
House's bewildered face would have been funny, if he were looking at anyone but her.
"I need to be up there," she said it quietly, afraid that her voice would betray her again.
House nodded and watched her run up the steps. He drove all the way home. He was going to watch TV, and drink, and not think about it. He was standing in his kitchen making a peanut butter sandwich, when it occurred to him that she probably hadn't eaten anything all day.
It wasn't his problem. There were vending machines. The cafeteria was still open. As he took a bite of his sandwich, he imagined Chris, sitting next to the hospital bed, in an uncomfortable plastic chair, faking that smile. He knew she wouldn't leave until her mother fell asleep, maybe not even then.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He stopped by his favorite deli, and picked up two of their best sandwiches, plus a sack full of whatever snacks they had to offer. He considered turning around and going home, but for reasons he didn't quite understand, and didn't want to explore, he pressed on to the hospital.
He stood outside the room for awhile before he entered. Chris sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, giving her mother a detailed account of her week at school. She seemed completely at ease. He could tell she was faking it, by the slight edge in her voice and the way she was twisting the corner of the bed sheet in her fingers. He also knew that faking it brought a comfort all its own.
House walked in and sat in one of the plastic chairs. Chris stopped mid-sentence to stare at him. He pulled out the sandwiches. "Do you want chicken salad or corned beef?"
Chris felt the sting of tears in her eyes again. "Chicken?" she hadn't meant it to be a question, but that was how it came out.
House handed Chris the sandwich, enjoying her surprise almost as much as her attempt to hide it. Then he pulled out a pudding cup and offered it to Sherry.
"Who are you?" Sherry asked, as she took the pudding.
"This is House, Mom. We met while I was volunteering." Chris looked pointedly at House.
"That's a stupid name," Sherry said.
Chris laughed. "You're right, I bet he made it up."
House rolled his eyes at their heckling and opened the other sandwich. Sherry was focused on her pudding. Chris un-wrapped her sandwich and took a bite. She chewed it slowly, trying to identify the flavors. There were nuts, apples, dried fruit, which she thought might be cranberry, and something spicy. It was really good.
"This is from the cafeteria?" Chris marveled.
"No way, you could catch botulism just looking at their chicken salad."
Chris shot him a dirty look.
"I guess they have to drum up business somewhere." House added with a sly grin.
"Thank you," Chris said. To avoid some awkward overflow of emotion, she looked down at the paper wrapper, and read the sticker on the outside. "How'd you know I like extra pickles?"
Chris had barely been home. She didn't leave the hospital unless she had to be at school. When she was there, she kept to herself, grateful that she had not been truly accepted by Rachel's friends, so they were not questioning her now. Rachel wasn't in homeroom, but with the number of clubs and activities she participated in, that wasn't uncommon. Chris was glad not to have to talk to her either.
She was sitting in her second period, Honors English class, when an office assistant came in, and handed the teacher a note. The teacher silently dropped the slip of paper on Chris's desk. Mrs. Harmon, the guidance counselor wanted to see her. The silence in the classroom was unnerving as she gathered her supplies and left.
The guidance counselor's door was open. Chris sat in a chair, against the wall, in the small office and let her book bag drop beside her. Mrs. Harmon stood and closed the door.
"What are you even doing here? You should be at the hospital." Mrs. Harmon leaned against her desk.
"You know I can't miss any more school."
"There are exceptions, Chris."
"There aren't any exceptions left. I just have to get through finals. You know I can't come back in the Spring."
"There are other programs. You could pass the GED in your sleep. If you can't afford it I'm sure…"
Chris didn't let her finish. "No! In twenty years no one will remember what year I should have graduated, but they will notice a GED on a background check. I have a 4.0., I'm graduating this month!"
The counselor gave a resigned nod. They'd had this conversation several times before. "How's your mom?"
"Not great, I guess. They just moved her up to the psyche ward."
Mrs. Harmon shook her head. "You don't have to go through this alone."
Chris tightened her jaw, into the most forlorn scowl she could manage, and shrugged, the way she imagined a disgruntled teenager would have shrugged. Mrs. Harmon had helped her a lot. She'd shown her all of the loop holes to jump through to graduate this year. Chris didn't want to be rude, but she didn't have the energy for this touchy-feely crap.
"This came this morning." Mrs. Harmon handed her a thin envelope. Chris read the return address and looked up at her with wide eyes, before tearing it open.
The Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was glad to inform her that she had received that year's Harvey Lucas scholarship for volunteerism. She would receive the money after the annual awards luncheon. Chris blinked, and read the page again. Mrs. Harmon was asking if she'd won and Chris was nodding.
She couldn't speak. Her throat felt like it was constricting around a boulder. She couldn't even tell if she was breathing. She grabbed her bag, crumpling the award letter around the strap, and walked out of the office. Her head was spinning as the lunch bell rang. She ran for the closest restroom and rushed into the first stall.
She leaned against the cold metal as warm tears spilled down her face. The room was filling with hungry, busy, chatty teenage girls. Chris couldn't control her sobs. She pressed her hands to her face to muffle the noise.
"Do you think she really did it?" Chris heard a girl's voice ask.
"Would they just let her come back to school if she killed him?" another asked.
"I heard they're lesbians and she killed him in a jealous rage," a third girl replied.
"I'll be so mad if Rachel is a lesbo. That's just a waste of one fine quarterback," the first girl laughed.
"He'll need a shoulder to cry on if she goes to prison," the third offered.
"That is so wrong," the second girl laughed along as their voices trailed out the door.
Chris found her anger calming, like a slap in the face. She forced herself to breathe, stuffed the letter in her pocket, and waited. When she was sure she was alone, she stepped out of the stall and looked in the mirror, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She looked down the hall, both ways, before slipping out of the bathroom. She skirted the crowds by slipping out a side door. As she hurried across the front lawn, towards the bus stop she saw Mrs. Harmon on the front steps, obviously searching for something.
When she saw Chris she called her name. As Chris approached the counselor, she could see from her face that something was wrong, more wrong than things had been a few minutes ago, in her office.
"You need to come with me…" Mrs. Harmon said in a soft voice, "to the hospital."
Chris tried to prepare herself for whatever she was going to hear next. If it was at the hospital, it had to be something to do with her mother, or with House. No, that was silly, no one would even think to tell her if something had happened to House, much less call her school. So it was her mom, but she hadn't even been sick. Maybe she was sick now? Maybe there was an accident? What if she was dead? They wouldn't make her go to the hospital if she were dead would they? All of this flashed through her brain at once before she could ask, "What happened?"
"It's Rachel. She's been admitted for an overdose."
Chris almost breathed a sigh of relief. She was that certain, that Mrs. Harmon must have been mistaken. "That's impossible, she's never even tried drugs."
"It was a suicide attempt…"
The counselor went on saying something, but Chris never knew if it was more details and explanation, or some hollow words that were meant to be comforting. All she heard was a rushing in her ears. She felt sick and the last thing she saw, as her vision began to tunnel, was the frown on the other woman's face. Mrs. Harmon moved towards Chris, as she saw the color drain from her face, but she wasn't fast enough to catch her before she collapsed on the pavement.
Chris came to, as the EMT's were rolling her out of the ambulance. She tried to sit up.
"Take it easy, you had a pretty nasty fall."
"I need to go to the hospital," Chris was thinking of Rachel, not herself.
"We're almost there. Are you in pain?"
"No, I'm fine." She had a terrible headache and huge goose egg forming on the side of her head, from falling, but wouldn't risk them making her sit through an MRI.
"Have you taken any medications today?"
"No!" Why did everyone think she was on drugs?
"What's your name?"
"Chris Ramirez."
"Chris, do you know where you are?"
"You just said we are at the damn hospital," Chris snapped, making the other EMT laugh. "It's Wednesday, December sixth. The president is Obama. I'm fine."
"The doctors are going to want to run a few tests to make sure."
"Tell them to call Dr. House, he treated me last time."
"You've fainted before?" he asked.
"No," she didn't feel like explaining that whole story.
"Do you have a chronic illness?"
"I'm starting to think so," she mumbled.
Chris waited in the ER, behind the thin curtain that separated each bed. She tried to relax, but she felt helpless sitting there waiting for House. What made it worse, was knowing that she wouldn't be any more help at Rachel's bedside, than she was there. Her brain churned with the events of the day. Rachel's phone went straight to voicemail when she tried to call, and she only had her parent's home number. Rachel hadn't even seemed depressed. She was the happiest, bubbliest person Chris knew.
Chris felt like she should have known something wasn't right. Even if she hadn't known Rachel that long, she knew what it was like to be violated. She had just assumed that Rachel was better at coping than she was. She tried to remember anything that Rachel might have said to tip her off. She had been upset when Chris told her what happened to Tommy, but that was a normal reaction, right?
Now Chris wondered if she'd been so wrapped up in her head, so busy with her own problems, that she missed some warning sign. They had never talked about what happened under the bleachers. That should have been a warning sign by itself. Rachel hadn't called, visited, or even sent a card since Sherry was admitted. That definitely wasn't like her. Chris dredged her mind for anything she might have missed.
"Ok, ok, I'll go out with you!" House's voice boomed, as he pulled back the curtain. "Just stop hurting yourself!"
Chris just glared at him. At least no one was expecting her to laugh at his inappropriate joke. That was good, because she didn't think she could remember laughing well enough to fake it.
"When was the last time you ate?" House asked.
"My blood sugar isn't low and I'm not anemic," she told him. "I'm fine, just discharge me."
"You fainted," House tried not to sound too concerned. It had taken her a little longer than normal to wake up. That was why the ambulance was called, in the first place. He knew it was likely because she hadn't eaten or slept properly in days, or from hitting her head. Unfortunately he also knew the twelve thousand other, much scarier things it could be.
"I'm awake now," she argued.
"It could be a sign of something serious. I'm going to test for…"
"It's just stress. I'm already out a couple grand for the ride here. I can't afford a bunch of tests, just to prove to you that I was having a bad day."
"What happened?" he asked.
"Seriously, is your blood sugar low?" What kind of stupid question was that? What was wrong? Everything was wrong. He knew that.
"People don't faint on Wednesday, from trauma that happened on Sunday. What happened today?"
She took a deep breath. Was it possible he didn't know about Rachel, or was he protecting her, in her fragile state, in case she hadn't heard yet? She opened her mouth but couldn't find the words to say that someone else was in the hospital because of her, that her friend might be dead by now, for all she knew.
"You just heard about Rachel?" House put the words in her mouth for her.
"Yeah," Chris nodded. "Is she-ok?"
"It's a standard overdose. It looks like she took everything in the medicine cabinet. They pumped her stomach and gave her charcoal."
"I need to see her."
"Give us some blood for labs and I'll release you." He surprised her by agreeing and not pressing the matter. "I'll run the tests under a fake name. You'll never see a bill."
"Thank you." She meant it, but she couldn't hold his eye as she said. This small kindness on his part was like the proverbial straw. Instead of putting it on her, he'd removed it. He'd relieved just enough pressure to keep her back from breaking, and let her breath.
