Author's Note: Ok, so I did do research for the remaining chapters of this story. Hope everyone is still enjoying it and I appreciate the patience that everyone has shown in waiting for the new chapters. Thanks to Jazelle1996 and Kidsnurse who were both betas for me.
Addicts Never Lie
Chapter Eleven: The Gray Box
Less than an hour after Wilson left House's hospital room the attending physician finally came in and signed the paperwork for House to be transferred over to Princeton Plainsboro. He rode with Cuddy in her car, and the transfer went smoothly, aside from the fact that House complained the whole ride there that he wanted to go home.
Shortly after arriving at the hospital, Cuddy had gotten him into bed, and given him another shot of Toradol in the new I.V. that she had insisted upon. House's quiet behavior and his increasing bad mood told her that the medicine wasn't helping much. They both knew that people with head trauma shouldn't receive narcotics for the pain and House still had several hours to go before he could be evaluated again. Then, if no new symptoms presented he would be allowed to have some stronger painkillers.
Cuddy had chosen a room in one older wings of the hospital, one of the few rooms that didn't have glass walls. She knew that House valued his privacy, and she wanted to do everything possible to make him as she could. Maybe then he might let his guard down enough to talk to her or Wilson about what had been going on these past few months.
He was lying in bed, pouting, picking at his food tray, and watching TV when she told him that she had to go and take care of some other things and she would be back in a few hours to check on him. She left the room and walked back down to her office. She sat down in her chair, placing her elbows on her desk, rubbing her temples. After several minutes of trying to relax, she picked up the phone.
When he didn't answer his cell, she tried his pager. Minutes went by, and he still hadn't called her back. She frowned. She got up and walked down to his office. The lights were off and the door was locked. She knocked loudly.
"Wilson, are you in there?" she asked. "Please open the door, I need to talk to you."
No answer. She waited a few seconds before knocking again, and waited. When he didn't come to the door, she gave up and walked away, heading back to sit in her office.
Wilson wasn't in his office. He had gone back to the apartment to find the morphine that he knew House had hidden somewhere. He thought that he had looked everywhere, but apparently he hadn't looked thoroughly enough. He knew that addicts could be very clever and although he hated himself for doing it, he decided that he would need to search the apartment again.
He started in the bedroom this time, tearing everything practically apart, but only found the bottle of pills next to his bed and the one hidden behind the books, still in the same spot that he had left it.
He next went into the bathroom and then ended up in the kitchen. Again, he ripped apart everything. He looked in the sugar dish, cereal boxes, the freezer, and refrigerator. Anywhere that could possibly be a hiding place was searched, no matter how ridiculous it might have seemed to him at the time. But he still didn't find anything. The only other place that he hadn't looked was the living room.
He stepped out into the living room, wondering where to begin the search again. He started with the closet, taking everything out, checking pockets and boxes. He then searched the couch, looking in the cushions, and under it. He checked all the table drawers, and found nothing. Then he remembered something that his dad had done once when he was a little kid. He had bought an old book from a thrift store and had hallowed out the center of the pages with a sharp razor, creating the perfect hiding spot. He looked over at House's shelves and sighed. He had to have close to five hundred books on those shelves.
It took him almost an hour and a half, but he had opened all the books, had neatly placed them back on the shelf, and was disappointed to find absolutely nothing. He was on the top rung of the step ladder putting a book back on the top shelf when he noticed that some books have been shoved up on the very top of the bookcase, out of site, hidden by the molding at the top. They looked like they had been shoved up there when House couldn't find any room for them anywhere else.
Wilson had to stretch to grab them. He carefully pulled the first stack of books toward the edge, when his eyes grew wide. There was a metal lock box sitting on top of a stack of books, shoved towards the back. He pulled the books toward him and barely caught the box before it joined the books, falling to the ground around him in a series of loud thuds.
He held the box in his hand, his breathing increasing.
This has to be it, he thought to himself.
He carefully descended down the steps and took the box over to the couch. He sat down and examined it. It was an old home security lock box with a four digit combination lock. Wilson sighed. It could take him days before he found the right combination, if he found it at all. He decided that there had to be an easier way to open it and went into House's kitchen to grab the tool box that he kept under the sink in the cupboard.
He grabbed a flat head screwdriver and started to attempt to pry the lid off. It took him over twenty minutes before he had finally wedged the screwdriver far enough between the box and the lid to give it one forceful shove, which sent the lid flying backwards.
What he saw made Wilson almost shudder.
Inside there were four vials of morphine, a tourniquet, a dozen or more individually packaged syringes, a vial of Compazine, and packets of alcohol swabs all neatly arranged in the box. He had found what he had been searching for, and he was now more scared for House than he had ever been in his life.
No casual user would have four vials of morphine stashed in their apartment. His worst fears about House had been confirmed. His best friend was now mainlining morphine, and judging from his recent behavior, it had been going on for awhile now. He closed his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach.
He slowly stood up. Now that he had proof, it was time to take the evidence to Cuddy. House was now hiding drugs in his apartment, possibly becoming more addicted everyday, and they had to do something about.
He grabbed the box and locked the front door behind him as he left the apartment. He got into his car and drove directly to the hospital. He walked quickly to Cuddy's office and tapped on the glass doors to let her know that he was there.
She had her head on her desk, but looked up and Wilson could see a look of relief on her face when she saw him. She motioned for him to enter, and he did. He walked right up to her desk and stood in front of it.
"Where have you been?" she asked, clearly worried.
"House's apartment," he said, his tone flat. He sat the box on her desk. "I found this."
She looked at the box apprehensively, but took it and opened it. She drew in a deep breath, and looked up at him.
Wilson sat down. She looked over at him, noticing that he looked exhausted, and was clearly even more upset than before. But she didn't know what to say to him, she didn't know how to comfort him anymore.
"It was on the top of bookshelf, hidden. I had difficulty reaching it," he said as he sighed and looked directly into her eyes. "It would be hard for him to reach it too. I think that it was out of site, out of reach, for a reason, Cuddy. He'd have to climb up a step ladder, which would be very painful for him, every time he wanted to get to it."
"What exactly are you trying to say Wilson?"
"He's trying to avoid it, trying not to think about it. And when he does that, I know that it means that whatever it is has been bothering him or… he is afraid of it. In this case, I think it is both."
Cuddy sat quietly.
"We have to do something Cuddy," Wilson said, his eyes full of sadness and hurt. "The pills were one thing, but this…he could O.D…he could…," his voice, so full of emotions, cracked as he spoke that last word.
Cuddy sighed. This was what she had always been afraid of. The moment when she could no longer deny that her diagnostician had finally given up the fight and had succumbed to his addictions and drastic measures would need to be taken to help him. "I need to talk to H.R. to find out what we can do and then we will talk to him," she said.
Wilson just sat there.
She looked at him again. But he didn't look at her. He sat with his eyes looking directly ahead, staring at her window, but he did not move.
"Wilson?"
He slowly turned to look at her and shook his head.
"I don't want to be there," he said quietly, looking away from her. "When you talk to him."
"But he is your best friend," she said, trying to convince him to go with her. I need you there, she thought. "He needs to know that you care, that you want to help him."
"I can't be there," Wilson said again a little more forcefully, and then turned to look at her.
"Ok," she said quietly as she nodded her head. "I know that this is a bad time, but I um…made an appointment for you this afternoon with Dr. Adams on the third floor," she said. "The appointment is at five o'clock in her office, room 326."
"I'm not going," Wilson said, his voice void of any emotion.
"Wilson, you need to see a professional about this," she said, more forcefully.
"Talking about this to a complete stranger isn't what I need right now, Cuddy."
Cuddy looked down at her oncologist. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. This was really taking a toll on him. She needed to convince him to talk to someone about this before it became too much for him to handle.
"Please, Wilson, go see her," she said gently now, trying to coax him. "House needs you to be the strong one right now, the responsible one. And that means that you need to take care of yourself in order to be able to help him."
That had gotten his attention. He thought about it for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll go. One session. If I don't like it, I'm not going back."
"One session, that was our agreement. If it doesn't help, we'll try something else."
Wilson nodded and stood up quickly, walking out of her office without another word.
Cuddy was relieved that she had talked him back into going to see the therapist, but little did she know that Wilson had lied to her and had no intention of going to see anyone. As soon as he was back inside his office, he called down to the doctors' office and cancelled his appointment.
