Chapter 38

And Now What…?

A week later, House felt much better. The swelling had gone down dramatically, his head hurt less, his recovery from the splenectomy had gone well and soon he would be able to eat his first actual meal in weeks. Unfortunately, the side effect was that he'd once again lost weight, become more emaciated than he had been for some months.

He'd had no more seizures. His bruises had metamorphosed from that gorgeous Maxfield Parrish indigo into a disgusting smashed-caterpillar greenish-yellow—except for a few deep ones just coming to the surface of his skin and starting the Technicolor process all over again.

Rainie also continued to improve, despite having more migraines, mostly in the middle of the night. Her strength was returning and so was her energy. She no longer slept twenty-three out of twenty-four hours. Now she slept a mere nineteen or twenty. But when she was awake, as long as House was in the room, she seemed alert and communicative. She left the room for her physio appointments now, leaving House alone twice a day for an hour each time.

Nightmares and flashbacks were coming more regularly now, House's as well as Rainie's. Jacey Liu gave them both clonidine to ease their anxiety and reduce their nightmares, although it hadn't really kicked in yet. Of the members of the medical team, Jacey was still by far the one who spent the most time in room 304.

For both of them, constant pain was—and always would be—a tragic side effect of their experiences. Synthia Little, the pain management specialist, had started spending time with them every day, developing treatment plans.

Linda McAllister visited daily, checking in on House and getting to know Rainie. Linda had a gruff exterior, not unlike her patient, but a tender heart, and seeing these two fractured souls tore at her. Often, after a visit, she would hold herself together long enough to get to the ladies' room and lock herself in a stall. Then she would cry. Sometimes for an hour or two. But still she came by every day.

The medical team met occasionally as a group, but mostly they came and went as needed. House was in no shape for further surgeries for a while yet, but Karen Langley had been talking to Rainie about scheduling an operation on her right leg, which should begin to help her mobility.

Dr. Yeung, the hand surgeon, had indeed joined the team, and he told both House and Rainie that he could definitely improve the functioning of their hands, which was such a relief to House he almost broke down. What Yeung didn't tell them was that, when he saw House and Rainie, his first reaction was an almost uncontained excitement about tackling the challenge of reconstructing their hands. Glee was probably not what these two people wanted to see on his face.

When it seemed safe enough, House insisted that the beds be scooted back together. Both patients seemed to feel much more secure in close proximity to each other, and, despite the weirdness of the situation, no one had been able to come up with a good reason why they shouldn't be able to sleep together if it gave them comfort.

Evan had been back many times, and finally got to meet Dr. House, a man whose life had fascinated him for a long time. Very different now from the man he saw mumbling on the witness stand two years ago, House was, when he wasn't sleeping, slyly witty, pithy and sarcastic. Underlying that exterior was an anguished man, ever-present pain tight around his eyes, who exhibited tender compassion and genuine fondness for Rainie, which endeared him to Evan.

Slowly, Rainie began to open up to Evan, and he saw faint glimmers of the woman she used to be. They talked about people they both knew, what had happened in the newsroom, in the city and in politics since she'd been gone—the safe subjects. But they never talked about what had happened. And they never ever talked about Jeff or Evie.

There were other visitors, too. Some of Rainie's acquaintances from The New York Times and a few former school friends stopped by every so often, always announced beforehand. It was apparent from their expressions that they found the changes in Rainie profoundly disturbing; they couldn't look at her, and could barely speak to her. Over time, they just stopped visiting. Once their visits ended, no other friends, other than Evan, came to see her.

Chase came up every couple of days, occasionally asking if House was up to providing a medical opinion on their latest case. Sometimes he was; other times he was not. Cuddy stopped in every day, never staying long and always moving cautiously. Wilson, of course, was practically a third roommate, often sleeping on the couch in the corner.

The flowers were long gone—just as well considering their recipients had never noticed them.

By each bed were tables covered in books and periodicals. On Rainie's side were copies of the Atlantic Monthly and American Heritage, several biographies, mostly of creative artists and scientists, as well as a thick book about the Titanic and another, equally fat, about the Lusitania, plus a history of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire and a copy of Colette's Claudine en ménage in French. On House's side, as expected, there were medical journals and books, but also, unexpectedly, were a novel written in Japanese, an Egyptian play and a book of Portuguese love poems. Next to them sat a history of 17th-century firearms. On each side of the bed, a pair of glasses was tossed casually on top of the stacks of books and magazines.

In the background, music played quietly, the sound emanating from House's side of the bed. Feeling that if House were going to take up residence at the hospital he might as well make himself at home, Wilson had bought him an iPod and speakers. The day after that, he picked up House's laptop from home and brought it in. House and Rainie had spent several days downloading an eclectic mix of music they both liked: 1920s jazz, bluegrass, more jazz, Scandinavian and Scottish folk songs, polkas, bossa nova, still more jazz, blues and French café songs. The first song House chose to listen to was Oscar Peterson's "Hymn to Freedom," which, it turned out, was a favorite of Rainie's as well.

Neither of them talked about the pain. It was better that way. Talking about it just drew attention to it, and attention just reminded them of how much it hurt. Better to talk about anything else.

They had talked, however, about how much they both hated it when the first thing out of someone's mouth was, "How are you feeling today?" or worse yet, "How are we feeling today?" It was hard to remain civil, and so tempting to reply, "How the fuck do you think I'm feeling?" or "The same way I feel every day," or "I'd trade five minutes of being you just to see the look on your face when you spent five minutes being me. Then you'll know better than to ask how I feel."

Mark St. John, no longer needed as often, went back to his regular duties, as did the security guard at the door to room 304.

In her office, Cuddy finally took a deep breath, praying this nightmare was finally over.

Wilson slept—for nearly three days.

* * * *

House's first meal off the IV, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, went about as well as Rainie's adventures with scrambled eggs. His mangled hands, stiff and weak with disuse, had been unable to handle fine motor skills for several years, and now, he could barely pick up a utensil. He dropped his spoon more often than he scooped up any noodles with it.

Frustrated at one point, he considered grabbing a handful of soup, but the messiness factor deterred him. Instead, he flung the spoon across the room, startling Rainie when it bounced off a cabinet and clattered to the floor.

She screamed and dove under the covers.

"Sorry," he muttered through gritted teeth as he glared at the recalcitrant soup.

"You scared me!" she complained, once she felt safe enough to peek her head back out from under the blanket.

Still frustrated, House replied, "I said I was sorry."

"Not good enough," she said, now annoyed. "I about jumped through the roof! At least warn me if you're going to throw something." She glared at him.

"Okay!" He glared back.

Wilson slid through the doorway during this interchange to find House and Rainie Adler staring each other down.

The scene struck Wilson funny, so he snickered quietly. The fact that these two battered people felt safe enough with each other to get annoyed had to be a good sign.

"What's so funny?!" they yelled simultaneously, turning their attention toward him.

"If you two don't know, I'm really not going to tell you."

They glared at him, then at each other. About this time, Rainie saw the humor in the two of them behaving like a couple of children, and finally, House did, too.

* * * *

The next day, after having a quiet lunch with Cuddy, Joe Roberts came to visit.

When he came into the room, he found House propped up, turned toward Rainie, who was sitting up facing him from her side of the bed. The two were talking quietly. They stopped when he entered.

Settling himself in a chair on House's side of the room, he was relieved to find House much improved, because he had news for both patients.

"Let me get right to the point. This isn't going to be easy for either of you."

House glanced at Rainie. Her body was tense. She sat very still, her eyes anxious as she looked at House, occasionally darting small glances toward Roberts. House wrapped her close to him in his left arm.

Roberts paused, momentarily diverted by the interactions between the two. He didn't mean it to be a dramatic pause, but the effect was the same as if he'd planned it to create maximum suspense.

"I thought you were getting right to the point. So get to it," groused House brusquely, when he had waited long enough. Rainie wasn't the only one who was anxious.

"Sorry," said Roberts, dropping his eyes. "There are some legal proceedings coming up very soon that involve the two of you. Ms. Adler, we haven't wanted to bother you with this up till now, but you need to know that there will be several trials involving the prison staff, and you will undoubtedly be called as a witness."

She nodded, saying nothing, a twinge of fear creeping into her eyes. House glanced at her again, tightening his hold around her shoulders.

"Dr. House, you may be called as a medical witness in some of those cases as well, plus Dr. Pevey's trial will be starting shortly, and both of you need to testify."

"Not surprised," said House. "I've been expecting it." He looked at Rainie, who was shivering. "We've already discussed it."

Roberts continued. "I didn't want you to find this out by getting subpoenas or through the press. Unfortunately, our legal system makes it difficult for crime victims. Dr. House has already been through this once before, and I can't tell you both how sorry I am that it's happening again. I would like nothing better than for the two of you to be able to avoid the pain of confronting your attackers. But that's not how our system works, I'm afraid."

"It's kind of you to tell us this way," said Rainie in a very small voice. Then she turned her head away abruptly and stared at the wall to her left.

Roberts' voice got softer. He hated—really hated—having to tell her this part.

"I need to say something else, too."

Her eyes flitted quickly toward him and then back to the wall where she stared unblinking at a photograph of a flowing river.

"Ms. Adler, we've never discovered who killed your little girl."

He heard a slight, sharp intake of breath from Rainie's direction.

When she didn't react, he went on.

"I'm sure it was some of Thompson's people, but we just don't know. There were no witnesses and there was no physical evidence. Unless someone confesses, we'll probably never find out who did it."

He saw her breath grow ragged as she struggled to hold back her emotions.

"I'm… sorry." It sounded inadequate. "I… I wish I could say we'd caught them and they'll be punished. But I can't." He paused, watching her reaction. "I guess the only good news about it is that you won't have to go to court and face them."

She opened her mouth as if to reply, but then closed it again, swallowing and inhaling sharply as she blinked back tears. Her eyes slowly closed, and he saw her bite down hard on her lower lip.

He stood up.

"Well, I'll get going. I'll be back when I have more details."

As he left, he saw House staring grimly at Rainie's back, his right hand clenching, or at least clenching as much as it could.