No Exit

Chapter 12

Wilson had caught Cuddy's eye as she stood with Harrington and another doctor at House's bedside.

"Excuse me Catherine, Dr. Kwan." Cuddy reluctantly left the room and went approached Wilson.

"What the Hell happened? Why wasn't House in court? His lawyer filed for an postponement?" His voice was tinged with a combination of anger, worry and panic. "What did he do?"

Cuddy was momentarily confused by the question. "What did…?" She sighed. "Wilson, if I'd known you were going to be there, I would have called and let you know. I'm sorry. We…" As Cuddy spoke, she occasionally looked over her shoulder back toward the room.

"Is he alright?"

"Yes. He's having a bad reaction to the neurontin. They maxed out his dosage yesterday…"

"Harrington told me that."

"You talked to Harrington?" She was slightly surprised, but that meant that House had agreed to it. That was good, she thought. "He'd been having mild dizziness since he's been on it; last night it got much worse; this morning the unit nurse couldn't rouse him." Wilson listened silently, concern etching his face. "Harrington thought to call me. She knew about the hearing and knew I could get in touch with House's lawyer. She had suggested a postponement to House last night. He refused.

"He's awake, but barely. Kwan's not ecstatic, but they have to cut back on the neurontin. Did the judge grant the postponement? I haven't heard."

"Yes. It's been rescheduled for next week. Can I see him?"

"He's extremely lethargic and not very alert. But…"

"I really want to see him, Cuddy. Look I know he doesn't want to see me now, but if he's that out of it, he won't know I'm around anyway."

"It's really up to Dr. Harrington and Dr. Kwan." Wilson, assuming what their answer would be, walked away from Cuddy, parking himself on a bench nearby.

By noon, House was considerably less sluggish and the dizziness had more or less abated. The doctors determined that they had no option but to cut back the Gabapentin, hopefully only a little. Back to where they had been with it two days ago: a dosage closer to what he'd been on two days earlier—and begin to add an opoid to the mix. Lowering House's dosage was not going to be pleasant for him, as the pain level wasn't great, even at the maximum dosage. And the sooner they could begin a narcotic the better.

Cuddy had been sitting with him most of the morning after the initial crisis was over. He opened his eyes languidly and looked at her, bewildered. "Hell of a way to get out of going to court."

"What happened?" House was slightly confused at Cuddy's worried expression.

"You went down a the rabbit hole for awhile. No one could rouse you. You missed your court appearance." Her voice was gentle. House's eyes widened in panic. "It's fine," she assured him, "It's been postponed till next week." From the overt gentleness in Cuddy's voice, House wondered just how bad off he was. He tried filtering through the list of gabapentin's adverse effects. His brain was simply to foggy for the exercise.

House tried sitting up. It was not such a great idea. Cuddy raised the head of the bed for him. "Better?" House nodded. He seemed to be looking better by the minute. He nodded, closing his eyes, as he tried clearing his head.

"Why am I so dopey?" He hadn't remembered doing anything…just being tired. And dizzy. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls.

"Too much Gabapentin. They slightly OD'd you."

"OK. Now this time it wasn't my fault." She smiled at the comeback.

"Kwan said they're going to hook you up to a morphine pump. They're going to try to schedule the preliminary testing for as soon as you're capable. Between that and the gabapentin…" House nodded sleepily.

"Morphine. Cool. Party's at my house." She knew House was making light of the situation, but an intrathecal infusion pump was a last resort solution. "Spinal morphine. Who'd've thought of that one?" He sounded slightly bitter. And it hurt. He'd asked her for just that—a spinal morphine injection--a year before; she gave him saline, instead. He was right to be upset with her.

"House…Wilson's been sitting out there all morning, looking like an abandoned cocker spaniel. He's been asking to see you all morning. Look, House, He only did…"

"Yeah. What he thought was right. It's all anyone ever does. You, him, Tritter, my lawyer… Motives pure as the driven snow." His glare slightly receded. "Fine. I'll see him."

Cuddy left the room to get Wilson as House steeled himself for the visit. He'd thought a lot about his relationship with Wilson, over the past two weeks, fueled both by boredom and his sessions with Catherine.

"So how ya doin?"

"Feel like I'm floating on a cloud. What could be better. Big fluffy one, too. Leg hurts like a bitch, but…"

"House. Look. I know you're pissed off at me. But what I did..."

"If you're looking for absolution, I don't want to hear it. I'm certainly in no condition to grant it. You did what you thought you had to. The end." House blew out a breath.

"I'm not here for anything but to be your friend." House laughed disdainfully.

"Right. Now you want to be my friend. You put me through Hell these last months…" House's indignation was colored by his own actions towards his friend. "…Look, I'm sorry about the scrips and involving you in the criminal case. I owe you that. But …"

"Everything I've done, I've done out of friendship. To protect you. Look, I didn't come here to argue with you. I was worried when you didn't appear in court this morning."

"What? You didn't get a chance to testify against me? Cover your ass?"

"I decided not to testify against you. I have the contempt charge sitting on my desk if you need proof."

"Yeah? What made you decide that? Bet your buddy Tritter liked that a lot. Guess you're not engaged anymore, huh?"

"The Stills diagnosis," Wilson inserted before House's next barb. House arched a questioning eyebrow. Had that really only been two weeks ago? Wilson took a breath. He knew what he needed to say. Had been rehearsing it for the two hours sitting on the bench worrying. He cleared his throat before going on.

"There was a time, House, when I was in awe of you. Your leaps of intuition, which half the time I couldn't even follow seemed like medical magic to me. I'd known the science had to be there, but you had this ability to see the big picture and the infinitesimal picture both at the same time. Merge them together and form a diagnosis. It was eerie as it was incredible to observe you make those associative leaps from nowhwere. I watched you wield your magic and recognized true genius.

"But it wasn't only that. You were battered and bruised, and I watched you withdraw more and more into yourself. Your words always protested that you didn't give a shit about patients. You forged yourself into a classic misanthrope. People made you miserable and you couldn't even stand to even speak to them, much less do more than coldly analyze their symptoms on your white board.

"Over the last year or so, as I saw you become more and more self-destructive, I had forgotten something I had known about you, having been persuaded by your own rhetoric. My anger at what I saw you doing to yourself made me forget…

"It's not the riddles to you. It's not the puzzle. It's not that you don't give a crap. Because you do. Maybe too much. And patients make you miserable because when you interact with them, you feel too much for them; empathize with them as only someone who knows pain as well as you do can..." Wilson could feel himself beginning to try and analyze House, and he hadn't intended that. Harrington had warned him and she was right.

"That diagnosis? You were sick; out of your mind with pain and withdrawal effects; depressed and under intense pressure. Yet you figured it out. Both Cuddy and I had missed it. Both of us. It's not lucky guesses; it's not some sort of medical voo-doo. It's genius. And I guess I had forgotten that. And in that moment of clarity, I decided that I couldn't be the one to deprive the world of you. The guilt would be too much. I couldn't testify against you. Send you to jail, when it was clear you weren't going to take the deal. "

House watched Wilson, stunned. How long had it taken him to put that speech together. A morning sitting in the hallway of a rehab center, probably. "But it wasn't Stills."

"Yeah, but you figured that out too. High as a kite on Oxy." Wilson shook his head in disbelief at the accomplishment. "Patient's mom told me what you said to her; how you got her to do the hormone therapy on the kid."

"Someone has a big mouth for a little person."

"Someone once told me that it's not what you say, it's what you do that matters. Every day, it seems, you risk your career…not to solve a puzzle; not to 'be right,' to arrogantly show off that you're the smartest kid in the class… But to 'do right' to do what's best for the patient—not because it's expedient, or will sit well with your malpractice insurance company, or cover your ass, or the board's or Cuddy's…"

"Yeah, but what an ass!"

"You do it because it's right."

"Morphine." House laughed, deflecting. "They're fucking putting me on morphine. Beats your Vicodin," House sniffed smugly. "I am sorry about the scrips. I had no right to pull you into this mess." House turned serious, realizing that nothing had really changed. Not for him. He and Wilson would be alright. They always were. That was a given. But nothing else.

"I better let you get some rest."

"Thanks." Cuddy re-entered the room as Wilson left.

"NEXT!"

"You and Wilson kiss and make up?" House nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. "You seem to be doing better than you were this morning." Another nod. "OK. I'm going to let you get some rest."

"Thanks, Cuddy."