I was in a writing mood today so I put up another chapter.
4 weeks later House got himself in trouble. Weston played harder on the prisoners than ever before. His mood sucked constantly and he would always find a way to leave it out on one of them. House was still amongst his favorites. One day he carried his trey to one of the tables when he tripped. His leg kept mocking him lately. It was winter. Cold and wet. That always screwed up his thigh.
The trey fell down and he distributed his lunch all over the floor. Part of it landed on Weston's shoes.
House's head went down. "I'm sorry, boss.", he said immediately. "I'll clean it up right away."
Weston looked at his feet and back at the convict.
"God damn it, House. I've had it with you. It's bad enough to watch you limping all day. Don't rub your crippled leg into our faces all the time."
House nodded.
"Now clean this up.", Weston told him.
"I'll go get a cloth.", he mumbled and turned around.
"Why would you? You have a shirt, don't you? Here you can start with my shoes."
There was total silence in the canteen. Everyone was observing the scene.
House had been in prison for 2 years 9 months and 8 days. He had learned to play by their rules. He didn't follow them all the time but altogether he had become a good boy. But he was tired of it. No matter what he did that asshole would always find a way to screw him. Not his behavior decided anymore only Weston's mood. That was so unfair. So why obey him all the time? The next insult or punishment would wait around the corner already.
"What's wrong with you lately, Weston? Your wife finally found out that you cheated on her and gave her herpes? Probably the clap as well. Don't leave it out on me all the time. Find yourself a condom and a goddamn hooker. Norfolk will give you some blue pills as well."
Weston looked around. He starred at the inmates and at his colleagues. They all had seen and heard this. They all knew that House was some sort of medical genius. Whatever he diagnosed was true. Or faked by himself when it came to his little business. Without another thought he drew his stick and punched House in the stomach. He couldn't breathe for half a minute.
Weston grabbed him and dragged him out of the canteen. Pure anger made him beat that convict over and over again. Two of his colleagues finally interfered.
"Stop it now. He has enough!", they told him. Weston looked at House. He lied on the floor and groaned. This had cost him at least 2 ribs. He could hardly breathe.
"Put him in the hole.", Weston ordered his subordinates.
House didn't care. Just a place to lie down. That was all he wanted.
That night he cried for the first time in prison.
He had no idea how long he had been down there in the hole. The pain in his ribs got better every day so it must have been a while. House had found three broken ribs finally. After a while he was convinced they would leave him down there. Forget him and throw away the key.
But finally they remembered him.
"Time to get up, House.", Weston told him. "Guess who has his parole hearing today."
House smirked. Yeah, his chances of getting out were pretty big right now.
"Don't worry. I'll come with you. Somebody has to tell them about your behavior in here."
He threw him one of his clean shirts and a wet cloth.
"Get in shape. We are in a hurry.", he grinned.
House startled. He looked like shit. He had not changed his clothes in probably 4 weeks. He had not taken a shower and his last shave had been a while.
"I'm filthy. I can't show up there like this.", he said.
"Think about it the next time you piss me off. You got three minutes."
House got out of his shirt and the t-shirt as well. It had been white once when he had put it on. He washed his face and the upper part of his body. He had lost weight again. The isolation cell diet was not really healthy.
He dressed in the clean shirt and stepped out of the dark cell. Daylight. He had not seen that in a while. It took him a moment to get used to it.
The parole hearing took place in the gym. House sat down on a chair. 5 persons he had never seen before sat opposite him. They went through his file and talked about the crime that brought him here in the first place. House felt ridiculous. He looked like a dipshit. His hands were once more handcuffed.
"Mr. House. Do you regret your crime?", one of the suits addressed him now.
What a dumb question.
He shrugged. "I think so, yes. The guy is still dead, right. So I still regret it."
House was overextended with the entire situation.
"Do you think you are ready to rejoin society?", he was asked next.
House chuckled. He was tired.
"I was ready to stay in society 3 years ago. But then you stuck me in here. One cannot be further away from society than in here. I haven't used a cane in three years although I'm a damn cripple. I was beaten up countless times and stuck into a damn hole for weeks. Everything we learn about living in a society from the very beginning is worth shit in here. Whatever I was supposed to learn in prison it was not really helpful concerning that matter. But who cares? Even if I get ever out I won't rejoin society. Your great justice system will take care of that. I will never return in my job but I'm pretty sure employers are waiting for a 50 year old cripple with a record who had his license pulled and can't do anything else but saving lives."
He paused and looked at Weston. He would not give that ass the pleasure of turning him in. He would finish the job himself.
"Do what you want. I don't care anymore. One day you'll have to let me go and then I can walk out of here head held high because you won't have broken my will."
It was a quick decision. Better luck next time. See you next year.
Weston got him back to block C.
"Good show, House. Very entertaining.", he smirked. "Now go grab a shower. You stink like a billy goat."
But a moment later he held him back. He made sure no one else was around.
"How would you know about, you know…", he asked him.
"It's written all over your face. Doctors know how to read these things. Plus you developed the habit of playing with your wedding ring lately. Probably because you think about not wearing it any longer but you are not ready yet."
"You are one clever son of a bitch, aren't you doc?", Weston said.
House just shrugged.
"And yet you were stupid enough to screw that hearing up.", he chuckled.
House shook his head.
"No, I was stupid enough to come here in the first place.", he whispered sadly.
Suddenly Weston smiled at him.
"Come on, get in shape. I spend you an hour with your piano."
House looked surprised and skeptically. What was he up to now?
Weston recognized his skepticism and distrust.
"No seriously man. I think you could need a drink now but since we don't serve alcohol in here I go with the next best."
It didn't convince House but he had no choice anyway. All the more he was surprised when nothing happened.
After he had taken a shower and got dressed in clean clothes he enjoyed an hour with the piano. When he returned to his cell finally he found some envelopes. His mail from the past 4 weeks.
Cuddy told him in really rough tone to get his ass out of there.
"Shut up for once. Tell them what they want to hear and get this over with!", he could read.
Too late for that.
Wilson had written him as well. He told him about the boy whose cancer treatment finally worked so he would recover completely. And he sent his good luck wishes as well.
House had thought about Wilson a lot during the past weeks. He had treated him unfair from the very beginning. He had been aware of that all the time. When Wilson had left him after Amber's death House was depressed and angry. He had loved the way they had rebuilt their friendship back then. But when he had lost control over his own life three years earlier he had suddenly understood how Wilson must have felt. Wilson had cared about him for so long and had been disappointed over and over again. Finally the oncologist had done what he had to do. Protecting himself for once in his life to prevent getting hurt again.
House had screwed up his life but it had been easier to be angry at Wilson instead of himself. And pushing Wilson out of his life had been the best solution for him back then. This time House had tried to spare his friend more disappointments because it had hurt him to watch Wilson's desperate tries to pick up the pieces. But Wilson had not been willing to let him go. He wasn't until that day.
For the first time House sat down and wrote his friend a letter. Telling him exactly those thoughts. Telling him that they had a great time together but that their ways through live had separated years ago and that they finally had to accept this. For the first time House thought about his future after prison. He didn't like what he saw but he knew it would not include Wilson or Cuddy.
Wilson read the letter and got miserable. He read it again but didn't like it any better. He knew their relationship had been instable lately but he had thought he would be on a good way. Maybe it was time to give it up. Perhaps House had been right. If he still cared about House and considered him a friend it was time to let him go. Maybe now it was time to leave this part of the US completely. Move away and forward at the same time. Trying to forget. Trying to work out a way to forget.