-29-

"Inevitable"

Worry hasn't abandoned him. It might have gone off to play a hand of poker or take in a film. But if House doesn't return tomorrow on what is his final day of vacation, Worry will be back with a vengeance, playing thrash metal guitar riffs and hauling with it its old pal Misgivings.

Head in hands, Wilson sits on the edge of his sofa, wallowing in these notions the only way he can. Give the emotions life and breath, endow them with human characteristics and they will leave you alone. For awhile anyway.

It is almost time for bed but not quite. He still has time to watch the news or plow through a chapter of the novel that is taking him twice as long to read as it should. Who has time? is his excuse. It is a lame excuse, so he shifts gears and primes himself to think about something else.

He heads to the bathroom, where he takes a piss, washes his hands, whistles "March On the River Kwai".

Cuddy hasn't mentioned how the time's wound down without a word from House, how they really should have done something to keep him home when they had the chance.

But he's a big boy.

Yeah...he's a big boy who most of the time needs a kick in the butt to keep him straight.

Wilson pads into the bedroom, pulls down the blankets and slides between the sheets. Some time after Amber died he threw every piece of bedding away, replacing them with plain white sheets and pillowcases. Amber would not have approved but Wilson knew it was the only way he was ever going to get a decent night's rest. The Salvation Army might have welcomed the sort of silky satin upscale bedding Amber loved. But Wilson couldn't bear to think of someone else sleeping on sheets that touched her.

He clicks off the nightstand light and lays in the dark, eschewing the TV news and the unfinished novel. His cell phone sits in the shadows by the alarm clock. It is only 10:32. Right now, Rosa would just be getting ready for bed. He could give her a call, see how she's doing.

How would that help anything?

Logic shouldn't enter into it. He just wants to hear her voice.

He grabs the phone and calls Cuddy instead. She sounds half startled, half asleep. They have a short 'will he or won't he return tomorrow' conversation, which does nothing to ease his anxiety and succeeds only in dragging her down with him. He tells her he's sorry he disturbed her, but it's already too late. He can tell she'll be up for awhile.

Just like him.


This should not have happened. John Henry should have known better. He'd been on the job since the ousting area was built. As head of security, he should have made it his business to get the Doctor back to Pleasant Hills or at least make him comfy-cozy in Nova City for the night. Detaining the Doctor in the ousting area was opening the door to all sorts of trouble, but there was nothing Garrett could do to fix it now.

Just take your medicine, his father used to say all those times Garrett had painted himself into a corner. You did this to yourself.

He sits at his desk across from Sarno, who is picking his teeth with a red toothpick. "Irie's going to kick your ass," Sarno mutters.

It was too soon to offer their golden goose a passkey to the seamier side of this world. Yeah, the Doctor's stroll brought him to a restricted area, but Garrett assumed John Henry would have been wise enough to get him out of there before the nightly lockdown. On occasion, Garrett's good nature and faith in his fellow man served only to kick him soundly in the ass.

He was not subtle or kind or tactful when he voiced his dissatisfaction to the security chief, which put John Henry in a foul mood.

"Ol' JH is going to take this out on the Doctor," Garrett laments to Sarno.

Sarno shrugs, scoffs and flicks the toothpick over his shoulder.

No opiates were permitted in the TO camp, which means the Doctor can't have pills, which means his pain is going to intensify. If a true emergency arises, a copter is dispatched from Nova City General under a red code, and the patient is taken away. But the matter needs to be truly extreme. The Doctor will just have to wait.

The Chronic Pain Nullification that became standard in Pleasant Hills six months ago still needs to be implemented in Nova City. The process is in its beta stages and it is a process; it's not magic. But Garrett's knowledge of science is limited. He doesn't know why one area of the dimensional plain is more difficult to 'fix' than another. He doesn't know why he let his curiosity get the better of him and allow the Doctor to take that walk.

The ringing of the phone causes his hand to jerk forward, knocking over a cup of pens as it reaches for the handset. He hardly has a chance to say hello when Irie begins her diatribe. She blames Garrett, she blames John Henry, and most of all she blames herself for not keeping a more watchful eye on the proceedings.

There will be serious repercussions from this gaffe, she promises. A date will be set for an inquiry. Perhaps a changing of the guard is in order.

Garrett pounds his fist on the desk, which rouses Sarno from a half doze. This time next month they could both be in New Mexico, pushing papers around in that shithole of an office, with the peeling paint and ceiling fans pushing the heat around.

Idiot!

It won't be Marcia's idea of a life. She might not leave him if he is 'demoted'...but she would probably consider it. One thing for sure, she will not follow him to New Mexico.

Irie continues spewing out her frustrations, assuring Garrett this is the last time she will ever have to deal with such incompetence.

She ends her tirade with an order to wipe the Doctor clean after lockdown and send him back to first world. He is tainted now. His usefulness has, unfortunately, run its course.

Garrett hears a softening in her tone; a slow trickle of regret is working to put a balm on her anger. He could take advantage it, but remains silent. His brilliant ideas got him into this mess. Taking another shot at salvaging what is left of his reputation might not be in his best interest.

Irie ends the conversation with a terse 'get it done', clicking off before Garrett can say 'yes' or 'thank you' or 'sorry'.

Sighing, he replaces the handset in its cradle and throws the moping, waste of time that is Sarno a glare.

Maybe this crazy whirlwind has run its course. Garrett figures could always get some menial governmental gig. Not as much prestige, not as much money. But the stress factor would be less. He would have more time with Marcia. He could work at being a better husband. He wonders what became of his ambition.

Maybe, he thinks, tapping the tips of his fingers together, this is for the best.