Chapter 25: Reflections
Disclaimer: Oh, House and the gang definitely are not mine. Which, all things considered, is probably a good thing.
He's sitting in a diner that doesn't seem familiar to him, but at the same time it does. He's halfway through a burger, and he feels free. Light. Happy. The insulin shock worked, and the hallucinations are gone. An overwhelming sense of relief encompasses him. He could have been schizophrenic, or had MS. He could have lost his license.
He had narrowly avoided disaster, and he didn't have to stop taking vicodin. Overall, he came off okay. Kutner's death had haunted him for weeks, but he hoped tonight that he'd actually be able to get some sleep.
The fear of losing his mind had been worse than anything he had ever experienced. The one thing he treasures beyond all else had been at risk, and nearly killing himself to save his sanity was a small sacrifice. If he loses his mind, he loses everything. It's all he has.
He freezes for a long moment. He is now aware of singing in the background. The diner is always alive with music, but now he hears a distinct change in the voice of the singer.
"Enjoy yourself... it's later than you think..."
That voice.
"Enjoy yourself... while you're still in the pink..."
It is unmistakably, terrifyingly familiar. He doesn't want to turn; already knowing what he will see, but almost with a will of it's own, his body turns. He sees her sitting there, as perfect in death as she was in life, singing her haunting tones into the microphone.
"The years go by... as quickly as a blink..." She's laughing now, but there is no humor in it. It sends a cold thrill of fear through his heart. She is not gone. His worst fears are being confirmed. He is slowly going insane.
Maybe not so slowly, actually.
"Enjoy yourself... it's later than you think..."
He picks up his phone to call Wilson.
xxxxxx
This time it wasn't Wilson that woke him up, but his own tears. His vision was blurred by the wet and darkness, and he quickly flicked on the lamp on his bedside table. His breathing was rapid and panicked, and he felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. Wilson had told him he had hallucinated Amber after Kutner's death. How he had called Wilson when he was at the diner, but then disappeared shortly afterwards to find Cuddy.
Another memory.
The dream had held the same amount of clarity as the one he had of the bus crash four nights ago. He gulped, searching for the bottle of water he kept in his night stand, his throat screaming for water. He blinked away his tears, wiping the sleeve of his tee shirt across his eyes. He was glad has hadn't screamed this time. He would have been mortified for his friend to see him in this state. It was bad enough last time, having Wilson find him screaming and thrashing.
He sat up, his shirt sticking to him unpleasantly because of all the sweat. He leaned his head back against the head board, trying to calm himself down by some degree. His heart was still thumping wildly in his chest, but it slowed as he breathed deeply in and out. He was trying to clear his head. Obviously causing his thoughts to cease was impossible, especially for him, but he could at least try to focus on something trivial. As was his usual morning routine, he stared at the picture of Cuddy, Wilson and himself on his dresser. He memorized every detail, trying desperately to focus only on that.
After a few long minutes, he was finally back to a state of relative calm. He sighed deeply, taking a bottle of aspirin from the bedside and shaking three tablets into his hand, quickly downing them with a swig from his bottle of water. His leg throbbed painfully, and he attempted to massage some of the pain away, but it was relentless. It had gotten much worse since he had started walking.
Although most of the time, he felt no empathy towards his former self, it was moments like this that he understood perfectly why he had been the way he was, why he had tried to find any means of distraction from the pain.
He peeked at his clock, and saw that it was roughly four in the morning. He briefly contemplated waking Wilson up, needing human contact, but he knew that his friend had had a long day at work, trying to get as much work done as he could so he could leave early for the ball tomorrow without feeling guilty. He wasn't going to interrupt the few hours of sleep he managed to get.
Bracing himself against the bed, he stood up shakily, using the nightstand to steady him as he grabbed his cane, which was leaning against the wall in it's usual place. His leg burned as he paced slowly in the room. He had been doing this as a bit of a ritual, trying to build up strength in his legs, in spite of the intense pain. Not to mention, he couldn't just sit still with his thoughts racing like this.
Two memories now. Two glimpses back to the life he had once had, and neither of them were pleasant. Although this one didn't leave him with the horrible feelings of guilt and pain that the one of the bus crash had, it had still been terrifying.
He paced back and forth. I need to get some sleep. Being dead on my feet for the charity ball would be a bad idea.
Honestly, he was scared of going back to sleep. Scared of seeing more of his old life. There were so many things he was happy he didn't remember. Sleep suddenly seemed like the last thing in the world he wanted.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his tux hanging on a hook on the wall. He and Wilson had just been to the tailor to get fitted the day before, and according to Chase (who had accompanied them) he cleaned up surprisingly well.
In less than twenty four hours time, he would have his second shot at starting something with Cuddy. He didn't want these demons from the past getting in the way of what he hoped was a chance at happiness. That despite the accident and the past he couldn't remember, they could be together.
He needed to talk to someone, but he didn't want to worry Wilson with this. Privately, he also didn't want to give him any false hope. He picked up his phone from where it sat on his nightstand. It was on the charger, and he quickly took it off and went through his incredibly short list of contacts.
Robert Chase. Rae Lynn Collins. Lisa Cuddy. Kimberly Hennessy. Remy Hadley. Leroy Harmon. Christopher Taub. James Wilson.
As a result of his accident, he didn't know many people, and he was close to even fewer (of course that wasn't all that different from before). Now he had to pick someone from that list that he could confide in. Chase was tempting. He was close with the Aussie, but he didn't want to place his baggage on him. Cuddy? Hell no. He didn't want this to jeopardize whatever was going on between them.
Collins, nah.
He was friends with the pretty neurologist, but she wasn't someone he would seek out in a time of need. Hennessy was the most logical choice, but he really didn't feel like hearing the comforting tones of his excitable young psychologist.
Remy.
Now, that was an idea.
Since his release from the hospital, he hadn't spent much time with Remy. She and Chase were very absorbed with each other, and spent most of their time together. He had Wilson, so he saw no reason in interfering in their fledgling relationship.
Since his awakening and her sacrifice, though, he had truly trusted her from the beginning. He felt like he could speak with her about this, without her trying to make him feel better or sugar coat the situation.
He dialed her number.
xxxxxx
Thirteen waited patiently in House's office for him. Honestly, she'd been surprised to hear from him, especially when his call included the words "I need to talk to someone."
Someone had to stay late at the hospital to monitor Raiven, who had lost almost all of her hearing shortly before the rest of the team left for the night. There wasn't an MRI spot open until the morning (they were thinking brain tumor or viral infection), and House wanted someone at the hospital to monitor her until morning. As per usual, the three of them had drawn straws, and she got stuck with the job yet again. She was starting to think that Taub had rigged it somehow.
She had gotten the call while she continued her routine of sitting outside the girls room, sipping her coffee and flipping through an old Smithsonian when House had called. After a brief and vague conversation, he had said he would meet her in his office in an hour.
So, here she was. She sat in the chair in front of House's desk, staring absent mindedly at her nails as she wondered what House could possibly need to talk about that he wouldn't just discuss with Wilson. Her and House were friends, obviously, but Wilson was his best friend. Was he trying to keep something from him?
She didn't have much more time to consider this, because almost as if he had been summoned by her thoughts, House limped into his office, stopping behind her. She hadn't actually seen him walk in, but the sound of his three legged gait was a dead give away.
"Hey." He said, his voice sounding weary. She tilted her head back to meet his electric blue eyes.
"Hi." She greeted him. "What's going on, House?" She asked, her voice softening with concern. He pursed his lips, shuffling forward to sit on the edge of his desk, still facing her.
"A few days ago, I had a dream." He began, wasting no time with small talk. "A memory." He corrected after licking his lips. Thirteen's eyes widened. He remembers something? "I remembered the bus crash."
"Oh my God." Thirteen said in a hushed voice. "Everything?" House shook his head.
"When I got on the bus, and then directly after the crash. So technically not the crash itself." He explained in a monotone.
"Did you tell anyone?" She asked. He nodded, twirling his cane in his left hand while staring off into the distance.
"Wilson and Hennessy, yeah. Hennessy wasn't all that helpful, and it worried Wilson a lot... he had to try for nearly ten minutes to wake me up, because apparently I was screaming my head off." He paused, looking distant. "But it also gave him hope."
"Hope?" Thirteen asked. House shrugged.
"Hope that he might get his old friend back." He told her. "I can understand it. For him, it's got to be a constant battle between his loyalty to the old me and the reality that I'm not him- me- fuck, I don't even know." He put his head in his hands, seeming exhausted both emotionally and physically. She knew he wasn't done, so she didn't speak, instead waiting for him to continue. The old House confiding in her would have been a sheer impossibility. With the new one, it was still a surprise, but it was really more touching than anything.
"I had another dream before I called you. It was after I put myself in insulin shock to stop my hallucinations. It was when she came back." He admitted, a haunted look in his eyes.
"Amber?" She whispered. House had never shared with them what he had hallucinated before the disastrous Cuddy incident, but she had guessed that it was either Amber or Kutner. He nodded tersely. House seemed more distraught than she had seen him since the accident.
"I woke up... and I was crying." His voice cracked, and he looked disgusted with himself. "I don't know what the hell is happening to me. Am I just going to be doomed to relive the worst moments of my life, or am I going to get my memory back?" He asked, shivering involuntary. Now that he had started talking, it didn't seem like he would stop.
"So these are the only two you've had so far?" She asked for clarification.
"Yeah. Hennessy thinks I might just remember a few of my really powerful emotional memories, and that's it." He said, his voice back to it's subdued tone. "Oh, joy."
"These seem to be really messing with you." It took a lot to unsettle House, even now. His short remembered life had been a difficult one, with his recovery, memory loss, physical therapy, and fight to get his job and life back.
"Things are finally where I want them to be. I'm getting closer to putting my life back together. And now this." He closed his eyes briefly. "I don't want to go back to sleep. I don't want to see anymore. I don't want to remember."
That's why he isn't telling Wilson this. Because Wilson does want him to remember. He wants his best friend back.
"House..." She trailed off, not really knowing what to say. She was still in shock that her boss had poured his heart out to her.
"I'm sorry for laying all this on you. I had to talk to someone... and I trust you." He said, looking away from her. "Plus, I wanted to see how Raiven was doing."
"She's fine, for now. Hearing loss has been sustained, but her vitals are stable. We'll be able to get her into an MRI first thing tomorrow." She stood up, deciding that the case wasn't the thing they needed to talk about right now. The fact is, she really didn't know what to say to comfort House. She had obviously never been in this position before.
She was going to try something crazy, insane, and downright daring to make House feel better.
Before her rational side could talk much sense into her self, she embraced the old man, who froze in her arms. House was not a touchy feely kind of guy before his accident, and she had never tested the waters afterwards with him, so she didn't know exactly what his reaction would be to this.
He tentatively patted her back, and she could feel him relax.
"Thank you." He said, pulling back from her. She gave him a sad smile.
"You're a good man, House. Both of you."
xxxxxx
House had returned to the loft just before Wilson's alarm went off, and he crumpled up the note he had left on his door in case Wilson had woken up to find him gone. Thankfully Wilson didn't seem to notice the bags under his eyes and general grogginess. He decided that for now, Wilson didn't need to know about his second nightmare.
Like any other day, they ate breakfast and drove to the hospital together, getting to work at eight o'clock. He tried to keep up a conversation with Wilson in spite of his preoccupation, so as not to arouse the oncologist's suspicions.
When he arrived at work, Chase, Taub, and Thirteen were waiting for him as usual. The unusual thing was the tired, stressed look on all three of their faces, and the new symptoms on the board.
It was slowly becoming a long list. Their patient had been worsening steadily since she'd been admitted. He scanned his eyes down the list.
Rash, fever, swollen joints, conjunctivitis, hearing loss, and kidney failure.
Kidney failure had not been there the day before. This can't possibly be good.
"I tried to run the MRI about an hour ago, and she seized. Both of her kidneys are fried." Thirteen sighed, looking run down. She showed no acknowledgement of their conversation the night before.
"We've been trying to get her on a transplant list, but without a diagnosis-" Taub began.
"-and the fact that she probably wouldn't survive surgery." Chase interjected.
"-I don't see him getting selected." His team looked positively abysmal. At this point, they were really running out of ideas. They all turned their eyes to him, seeking guidance. Seeking a way to save the fourteen year old girl. House limped towards the board, eyes scanning over the symptoms.
"Simple solution." He said, turning back to his team. "We diagnosis her."
xxxxxx
Wilson trotted down the hallway, ready to meet up with Chase and House. They had planned the day before to get ready for the charity ball at Wilson's loft, then split up to go meet their respective dates.
He pushed open the glass door to the differential room and saw House sitting at the differential table, chin resting on the handle of his cane. Chase sat nearby, mouth pursed into a thin and worried line.
"We got rid of the rash. Why is it back?" House asked. He didn't know whether he was speaking to Chase or just wondering out loud.
"We know it's not an allergic reaction." Chase replied. "We must have done something to set it off again."
"We need to isolate what's changed." House muttered. "We put him on dialysis, moved him to the ICU, and did a partial MRI."
"The MRI was two hours before the rash came back, it's probably not connected." Chase said.
"What was he doing two hours before he broke out the first time?" House asked. Wilson cleared his throat, and both House and Chase jerked in their seats before turning to locate the source of the noise.
"Is Raiven not doing well?" He asked. House nodded his head in affirmation.
"A lot less than 'not well', actually." House said. "Remy and Taub are getting consent from the mother to start her on chemo."
"You've got a diagnosis?" Wilson asked, not understanding.
"Nope. Brain tumor's the best guess we've got. Chemo will probably kill her, but doing something is better than doing nothing. If that doesn't work, she'll probably be dead by this time tomorrow." House explained, looking dejected. House hadn't lost a patient since his accident, and Wilson wasn't sure how he would react if he did.
"Is someone going to stay with her while the charity ball's going on downstairs?" Wilson asked.
"Taub." Chase said. "At this point, there's really nothing we can do but wait and see. We were never able to finish the MRI, so there's no guarantee it's a brain tumor, but none of us have any other ideas."
"At least if anything goes wrong, you guys will just be downstairs." Wilson pointed out. "Are you two ready to go get dressed?" He asked. Chase stood up with a sigh, and House followed suit, his hand massaging his thigh. Is it hurting worse than usual?
"Yeah." Chase said. "Let's go." The three of them headed out of the differential room, House lagging slightly behind. Once back in the hallway, Chase and Wilson both slowed down so they could keep pace with House. Wilson noticed that the diagnostician had the same distant distracted look he had held this morning. Probably just concerned about the case.
"House," Wilson ventured. "are you okay?" House's blue eyes bounced to him for a brief second before flying away.
"I'm fine." He said. Wilson's stomach knotted as they stepped into the elevator, the doors dinging shut in front of them. Something in House's voice and the hesitation in his eyes made him concerned.
Why is he lying to me?