Chapter Twenty-Six

"We need to be ready to move." He shut off the movie that had been ignored for quite some time and quickly set about removing the IV line from Kutner's arm. He shut off the monitors before they could start beeping and began disentangling his employee from the various lines and wires that were fastened to him.

"I hated doing that," Kutner muttered.

"I know. But you did what needed to be done."

"Don't care if it needed to be done, I still hated it."

There was a sudden knock at the door, which made Kutner jump a bit. House checked the visitor and opened the door to allow Tritter to enter, a wheelchair in tow. "Good evening, Dr. Kutner," he said politely, an inscrutable smile on his face. Kutner thought perhaps he was trying to put him at ease, but it didn't work. Tritter looked to House with a more serious expression. "Ok, let's move. Ambulance is downstairs waiting," he said quickly as House eased Kutner up from his bed.

"Ambulance?" Kutner questioned, sitting down into the chair carefully.

"The ambulance will drive to the outskirts of town – we can get through the worst of the evening traffic that way. We reach an out-of-the-way location, and then we transfer you to a different vehicle which will drive you to the safehouse. Just an extra precaution."

The team of three headed out into the hallway, and Kutner noticed there was no longer a guard positioned outside of his room. When had he left? There were way too many details that were involved in this, he realized, and even though he was technically the reason for the operation, he was only a small part of it.

They went to the freight elevator, rather than the main elevators in the lobby, as those were far more trafficked even at such a late hour. As the elevator doors closed and they headed to the ground floor, House surreptitiously handed Kutner two pills. "What's this?" he asked. He truly couldn't tell what these were, but they didn't resemble House's Vicodin or his own buspirone (which he realized he had left in the room). His boss was so unpredictable; he had no idea what these pills could be for. Or maybe he did know, but was just too nervous and exhausted to puzzle it out for himself.

"Just something to help with the pain – I don't know how long the drive will end up being."

Kutner took the pills and studied them carefully, trying unsuccessfully to place them. He hesitated to take them, until he heard House mutter, "This will be a very long, excruciating night for you if you don't trust me." Kutner gazed at House – the blue eyes met his, and Kutner knew that whatever crap the doctor had pulled on him in the past, this time he was acting out of concern for him. It was an odd feeling. But he knew, even if House was not exactly his buddy, he also was not his enemy. Kutner popped the pills into his mouth and dry-swallowed them, in true Houseian fashion. As the tablets bumpily travelled down his esophagus, the doors opened, and they were at the back of the emergency room.

Cameron was still on duty, having just received several victims of a three-car pile-up. As she scurried from one gurney to the next, she thought she saw the back of Dr. House moving through the ER in the periphery of her vision, only noticing because of the irregularity of his gait. There were dozens of medical personnel swarming around, and she had to turn back to the patient in front of her. She would later wonder if that was Tritter walking in-step beside House (which she would quickly dismiss as being extremely unlikely unless hell had frozen over), and who was in the wheelchair she thought could barely see past House's figure. But with her more pressing duties literally screaming for her attention, the sight quickly flew from her mind.

House and Tritter both aided Kutner in climbing into the back of the ambulance which was waiting in front of the hospital. Kutner winced in pain as he settled himself into the truck. House jumped in beside himwith surprising agility, and Tritter quickly slammed the doors. Kutner stared at House in surprise. "W-what are you doing, House?"

"You come with a lot of handling instructions; I just want to make sure the people protecting you understand what you need when you need it," House said simply. Kutner decided to accept that; he was still recovering from surgery, and besides, something about the older man's presence comforted him, made him feel a little less like he was in a spy movie. He could deal with it for a little longer. Tritter climbed into the passenger seat up in the front of the vehicle, and the driver, whom Kutner suspected was not an EMT but a cop as well, pulled away from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"Taub's going to be really mad," he said quietly, feeling the ambulance pick up speed as it eased into traffic. He tried to picture his friend's reaction when he discovered they had flown the coop without his knowledge. He envisioned betrayal and anger, and it pained him deeply to know what Taub would experience when he arrived at the hospital the next morning. He only hoped Taub would forgive him for running off without a word of warning.

Though House didn't particularly care whether the Mini Mother Hen was angry or not, he felt compelled to respond. "Maybe he will be at first, a little bit, but he'll understand eventually."

Kutner bit his lip, his brown eyes looking far off. He lost focus for a moment before finding his thoughts again. "I… I just don't want him to hate me," he whispered. House didn't respond right away to that remark, for it seemed too familiar to him. Where had he heard that before? It jarred him so deeply, he was almost certain that he had said it somewhere… to someone who hadn't exactly reassured him. But it was too hazy a memory, too unlikely. "He won't hate you," House finally muttered. "Not for this. Me, on the other hand… No, Kutner. He won't ever hate you." Because you're a decent person and would never hurt him beyond repair. And if you did, it would be unintentional and your remorse would be evident. You've never just pushed and pushed your friendship to the brink of destruction time and time again… You haven't killed the woman he loves. House thought all of these things, remembering every stinging word Wilson had said to him after Amber died, but didn't verbalize his musings. Kutner wouldn't know what the hell he was talking about, and anyway… all that was behind him. Wilson was back on his side, and everything was normal again, right? No reason to hash out all of those nonexistent, irrelevant issues in front of a kid who didn't look like he was totally coherent, or least wouldn't be in the next ten minutes or so. Not to mention it's none of his business. They grew silent, each thinking about his respective friend, and about the various ramifications of this clandestine escape.

Taub entered his home, which was dark and quiet. Locking the door securely behind him and setting the alarm, which often remained unarmed except when he and his wife were out of town, he wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Rachel was sitting up in bed, reading a book. When she saw her husband, she gasped and leapt up, running to his arms, overjoyed to see him at home and looking like he was going to stay. They held each other tightly – Taub awakening to the curves of her body and the scent of her skin, and Rachel gently kissing his stubbled cheeks with relief, all but holding him up in his tiredness. They didn't say a word, and Taub wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly the kisses grew frantic and the sheets grew mussed, and before he knew it they were entwined together, too long apart and strained. Had it really only been four days since he had slept in his own bed? Only after their lovemaking was finished did Taub's fatigue return. He groggily spoke of how he had told Kutner of their first meeting, how glad he had been to relate the story. As he whispered snippets and fragments of the vigils with Kutner, Rachel softly raked her fingers up and down his bare arms, first giving him goosebumps at the lightness of the touch, but then lulling him into a deeper state of relaxation. His last coherent thought was a silent prayer. Kutner was right. I needed to come home, needed to see her so much… God, please let my friend's night be easy, and give him rest…. Despite the fears that had plagued him earlier, he slept hard and soundly, his wife by his side, a small smile on his lips.

As the ambulance drove forward into the night, Kutner felt his body relax a bit, then more than a bit. Was it warm in the vehicle, or was he imagining it? His eyelids grew heavy, as though weights had been attached to his lashes. He struggled to keep them open, but with little success. He couldn't allow himself to fall asleep, not with those nightmares lurking in the shadows of his mind. His hand reached out for the other, his nails anticipating contact with his skin, but House stopped him. "Leggo…" Kutner murmured blearily, confused as to why his words seemed slurred. House did not release his hand, nor did he look at Kutner. Everything looked blurry. "Hoowwwse, whuh d'I fill suh wir'? Fill so tard…" At least, that was how 'House, why do I feel so weird? I feel so tired" sounded to his ears. But House either didn't hear him or decided to ignore him. Without the scratching to occupy his mind, without the discomfort to stimulate his brain, he slowly lost himself over to the sleep that had been lurking in the corner all day long and was finally charging at him full-throttle. As his eyelids crashed closed, his last coherent thought was the realization of what must have occurred. Unbelievable. House actually drugged me…