No Exit
Chapter 11
No Exit
Chapter 11
A/N—I think I was misunderstood when I posted the last chapter. I will not end this either abruptly or unfinished. My thoughts are still to finish in just a couple more chapters---unless there's more to say after Words and Deeds airs on Tuesday. If House is still in rehab at the end, I may continue. But in either case, I won't leave it unfinished. I thank everyone who has been encouraging me to continue with this work, and I'm gratified that it's touched so many people. It's been fun, but draining, to write!
Of the five Brandenburg concerti written by Bach, the third was Catherine's favorite. She had made a practice of leaving the piano unlocked at night before she went home, leaving House an open invitation to use it. The adjustment of his medication regimen had been physically and emotionally challenging for him and she thought having free access to the piano might bring him some comfort.
Of course there was the dizziness, leaving him even more unsteady on his feet than he had become. He was alternately sleepy and restless, always drowsy and never getting needed sleep as the pain woke him nearly hourly at night. House had resisted using biofeedback, but had accepted the manipulations of a masseur borrowed from physio. Kwan had upped the gabapentin as much as was safe, and his "normal" pain level still had not gone below a 5 or 6 on the scale. It was still too way too high. They all knew that House would never be pain free, nor had he been even on the high doses of Vicodin. But Kwan had hopes that with the right combination of the chemical and the non-chemical, they might be able to make the pain level very consistently tolerable, with few peaks and valleys.
House was playing the concerto with technical brilliance. Catherine was on-call and was in her office when she heard him take on the difficult piece. The complicated runs and extravagant trills seemed to emerge effortlessly through the piano's mellow wood. It was when he hesitated for the third time, hitting sour notes on each attempt, that she became concerned.
House's preliminary hearing was scheduled for the next morning. It was half past two and she was hoping he'd get some rest during the night. But if not that, at least some respite from the torture they were putting him through.
"Hi." House nodded, his eyes closed. "You OK?" Right question, poorly phrased. "Is it the pain or the dizziness?"
"Dizziness." Catherine automatically put a steadying hand under his elbow, thinking he would try to stand. House raised a hand, motioning her away. Catherine reckoned that this had to be a particularly bad spell. If they couldn't get the dizziness under control, this was not going to work for him. He had to be functional. And severe, albeit intermittent, dizziness was a serious impediment to functionality.
A few moments passed and House cautiously stood, pushing back the piano bench, testing. It had been four days since going up on the rooftop, and House hadn't spoken much since then. A lot of that had to do with his not feeling well under the new meds, she knew. But he seemed to have withdrawn back into himself.
House did not trust easily. He had very good reason not to, given the betrayals in his life. And Catherine suspected that they went further back than the infarction and what she had read about Stacy in his file. He had needed to trust Catherine, coming back off the rooftop, freezing, in anguish, and unable to descend the staircase on his own.
To House, dignity was everything. There was nothing particularly dignified in maneuvering down a stairway one torturous step at a time, draped over a woman half his size. "Thank you," he had said to her, before looking away, embarrassed and humiliated. Catherine wondered, after all he had disclosed to her, the condition he had been in when he first came under her care and what he had gone through the first week, why now? Why this? And she came to the conclusion that it was about trust and power: giving in to the former and relinquishing the latter.
"You need to get that hearing postponed, Dr. House. There's no way…You'll keel over before…"
"Yeah. Great. That will look just wonderful. Defendant requested postponement of hearing because of difficulties in rehab. That'll get me an acquittal right there. No. I'll be fine."
"The problem is with your meds, not you. You're not ready." The dizziness seemed to have passed and House seemed more steady.
"I'll be fine." He began to walk back towards his room.
"Your defense all worked out?" House nodded.
"I think it depends on the judge." House was concentrating clearing his head as he spoke. "What her take is on my alleged action, in light of the fact that my needed medication was abruptly withdrawn. That my physicians were pressured by the investigating…by a cop with a vendetta…" He was struggling for words through the dizziness, but he seemed clear-headed.
"The DEA laws are pretty brutal." House shrugged.
"What will be will be. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of having to justify every…" He stopped, closing his eyes briefly, reflecting. They had reached his room.
"I talked to Dr. Wilson."
"He got his testimony all worked out? Ready to screw me on the stand?"
"He's not testifying. He told me, anyway."
"Doesn't matter. They have his statement…and his deal. They'll subpoena him and he'll have to testify. His sentiment is a little 'after the barn door's open,' if you ask me."
"He wanted you to understand why he felt he had…"
"Spare me. Yeah. I know. He went to Tritter to 'save me' from myself. Save me from going to jail."
"He said he thought Dr. Chase was about to go to the DA..."
"You mean he hadn't already?" This was accomplishing nothing but to get House increasingly agitated. Catherine sighed.
"Dr. Wilson should never have been prescribing for you. He has a personal relationship with you and never…"
"He knew that I…" House stopped as Catherine sat in one of the bedside chairs. He eased himself onto the edge of the bed, manually lifting his right leg up. Catherine observed him. He had never asked for more meds or more frequent dosages. He followed the protocol without questioning it, patiently. And she knew House wasn't a patient man.
Catherine had met with Wilson earlier in the day. She had wanted to figure out a little bit of their seemingly complex relationship: close friends, patient/doctor, confidants. She doubted it was sexual. House struck her as completely heterosexual. Wilson, she hadn't had quite a handle on…and with three failed marriages. But it was clear that their relationship was completely platonic: a close, close friendship; family, even.
Wilson, she knew, was an oncologist. He dealt on a daily basis with intractable, chronic pain. It was part of the job description. And alleviating that pain was a large part of Wilson's job. Maybe that was why he felt qualified to deal with House's pain issues.
"So why are you Dr. House's prescribing MD?"
"It's convenient for him."
"That's it?"
"He needs the meds." He had sounded a bit defensive.
"Of that, there's no doubt. None." Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"House doesn't trust doctors. He hasn't for a long time. Not since…"
"The infarction fiasco."
"Right. He quit physio after the first year and a half. Shortly thereafter, his significant other moved out. He practically drove her away. House completely withdrew. Basically stayed in his apartment for six months. Never kept doctors appointments; shopped; went for haircuts. He became a hermit. He needed the meds. Without someone writing him scrips, he would have simply died. It would have simply been too much for him."
"Your prediction nearly came true on Christmas Eve. It had become too much for him without the meds. You knew that, but you convinced Dr. Cuddy to deny him needed medication."
"I had no choice, Dr. Harrington. The DA had put a deal on the table…I went to them because I was scared for House. I saw a disaster coming. He didn't; he never does. House can figure out everyone and everything…except himself. He struck a subordinate; a young doctor who not only is an opportunist, but had betrayed House before. When it had happened the first time, I thought House would have fired him. But he defended him as simply wanting to protect his job. He understood Dr. Chase's motivation and found it within himself to accept it. It's more than I would have done, but…" Harrington detected a note of deep admiration in Wilson's voice.
"Anyway, I believed that Chase would go to the police and tell them something damaging to House. I have no idea what—but House…House sometimes colors outside the lines. We all do that…break strict medical rules for the greater ethical 'right.' House does it all the time. So I had no idea what Chase may have told Tritter…"
"…the detective."
"Yes. The investigating officer for the case. I thought it would be a lesser evil if I could mitigate the damage. I got the DA to offer a deal—rehab instead of jail time. I thought that House would go for it."
"How could you think that? I've known him for two weeks and I know he would never agree to taking such a deal. Especially if he thought he was right and would be acquitted." Wilson sighed. Catherine paused. "Dr. House said that you dismissed him when he came to you about the returning pain this past autumn. That he asked you for Vicodin, but you insisted that the Ketamine was still working and blamed his pain on creeping middle age."
"I did. And I was wrong. Clearly, in retrospect, the pain was returning. But at the time…"
"That's when he stole your prescription pad, you know. He felt no one was listening. His case was crashing in on him…"
"The Addison's case. Yes, I know. I was…One day I knew that House's arrogance would get him into trouble. I was only trying to help him see…"
"Do you know, Dr. Wilson, how much of House's so-called arrogance is for show? My guess is, after getting to know him, that House has more humility…real humility than any three doctors I've ever know in a major institution? Sure, he has absolute confidence in his skill as a doctor, but he questions himself all the time…" A lot of that had been pure speculation, but between reading House's own writings, and having come to know him…and her discussions with Lisa Cuddy, Harrington was pretty sure she'd hit the mark.
"He tell you that?" Wilson had been sure that Harrington was coming down with Stockholm syndrome.
"Look, Dr. Wilson, I'm not here to accuse you of anything. Certainly Dr. House is self-destructive enough on his own. He's hurting a lot inside, and I think you know that. You want to help, and that's good. I understand very easily how Dr. House could shut himself up; be unwilling to see doctors and rely on someone he trusts…you. And you are a good friend to want to be there for him. But you aren't a psychologist or psychiatrist. I think one thing I will ask of you if you visit him during his time here, especially…but for all time…is to not try to psychoanalyze him. He resents it and it deeply hurts him. He may not articulate it; he may make jokes about it, become sarcastic…but it hurts. Believe me.
"We're going to get him on a reasonable and tolerable pain management protocol. It's likely to end up being Gabapentin; an intrathetcal metered morphine pump. It's not going to deal with the pain completely. The best I've seen with this combination is a pain level between a 3 and a 4. His pain will never be less than that. On his best days. He'll probably have occasional breakthrough pain; and for that we'll probably send him home with an emergency kit. He told me that he had one last spring. I assume it was something that he self-prescribed. I intend be his prescribing physician, as a matter of convenience. If he asks you to prescribe for him, send him to me. That's why I'm prescribing for him, and not his pain management specialist. I'm here; Kwan is in New York. I'm sorry to be so long winded. Dr. Wilson. Be his friend. He needs that from you more than he needs you to be his doctor or his psychoanalyst."
"Can I see him?"
"He's still unwilling to see you. Give him a little time."
"You know…I couldn't stay that night...Christmas eve. I had been worried about him after I he left the office. The look on his face…I'd called him three times and when he didn't answer…I thought… I saw him…lying there… But then I saw the empty oxy bottle and the whiskey. I couldn't deal with it anymore. I felt terrible leaving him there but I…"
"You called Dr. Cuddy. I think that was the best thing you could have done under the circumstances."
"He won't see it that way."
"He will. Give him some time. Right now, he's having a hard time adjusting to the meds and we're not anywhere close to an acceptable pain level for him. He needs to concentrate on that. Give it time."
Catherine watched as House tried with no success to find a comfortable position in his bed. He was clearly exhausted, defeated, resigned, hurting. She was worried about the preliminary hearing…probably more than he was.
"Is the dizziness better? Should I get you anything for it?"
"Won't it screw up our readings? The…" House had slipped off to sleep.
Harrington removed his shoes, and pulling the blanket up over him, bid him a peaceful rest.
