Lydia yawned and checked her watch, cursing softly that it was still only six a.m. The night had seemed to drag forever and if she had to spend many more hours in this godforsaken cabin... Still, it was a while before it would be worthwhile making a move. Delivery was only guaranteed before noon, and, although she didn't relish the thought of more sitting around with nothing to do but wait, the prospect of arriving to find that the package still wasn't there, that she wouldn't be able to get her hands on it, could lead to violence that she might regret.
She pushed herself to her feet; it was time to play the doting nurse again. She had spent a little over twenty minutes with House during the course of the night. But she had wanted to give him the impression that it was much longer. She wanted him to believe that she was there for him, watching over him. If he got even remotely suspicious about her motives or intentions then there was always the chance that he wouldn't tell her where the package was. That he would try to stop her. Not that he was in much of a condition to do that. So, she had made sure that whenever she went to replace the cool cloth from his forehead, she always woke him up. Stayed until she was sure that he had at least been aware of her presence and had drifted back to sleep before leaving him alone again.
She moved into the bedroom and bent to retrieve the cloth, surprised by its warmth as she picked it up. She stopped from what had been intended to be a casual glance as she pulled the cloth away and instead paused to study House carefully. The red flush in otherwise overly pale cheeks did not bode well. She dropped her hand onto the skin of his face. Damn, it was far too warm; he was running a fever. She moved quickly to the bathroom, pulling open drawers until she found the first aid kit she had seen on earlier explorations. She opened it, and routing through it retrieved the thermometer, pausing only to get a little cold water on the cloth before moving back to House's side.
In House's pain filled world Lydia's strategy had worked perfectly. To him it seemed that she was always there. Cooling cloths and gentle soothing touches accompanied her presence. She had been there each time he had awoken, so in his mind she had never left his side.
"House?"
His name penetrated but he did not want to acknowledge it at first. His mind had only two states at the moment, pain or oblivion. He much preferred oblivion, but the voice was insistent. He opened his eyes; tried and failed to force a smile. "Lydia," he spoke softly, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as he attempted to orient himself on his surroundings. Was there any part of him that didn't hurt?
"Shhh," Lydia said, "Don't try to speak, not until you've had a drink, but first I need you to put this in your mouth for me." She held the thermometer up into his line of vision and he gave a small nod as she placed it under his tongue.
Forgetting her admonishment to stay silent, he spoke as she pulled the thermometer from his mouth and turned it so she could read it. "I do feel kinda hot."
Lydia stared at the reading and cursed again. 102.3 degrees. This was not good, not good at all. "Maybe we left the hospital too soon."
House watched the frown form on Lydia's face as she read the thermometer "Not good huh?" he asked, trying hard to force a smile.
Lydia didn't answer straight away. She continued to stare at the thermometer, unmoving; the world around her clearly not registering. It was almost as if someone had hit a pause button; for almost a minute there was nothing, and then the return was abrupt, like a resume play. House found it disconcerting. It wasn't the fact that she had drifted off, everybody did that at some time or other, being lost in thought or daydreaming wasn't uncommon. It was the fact that she didn't seem to register at all that it had happened. It really was like a pause in the program. She had the same look on her face Annie had while staring at the music box for hours on end at Mayfield.
"You have a fever," Lydia stated, lowering the thermometer. She looked him in the eye, registering his own concerned expression. She could see the pain etched on his features, could see how it was wearing at him. "You should have stayed in the hospital." She stated, allowing a moment of genuine concern. If he stayed here he could die.
He deserved to die, for what he had done to her, for making her hate him. He had made her hate him by loving her. She didn't want him, didn't want what he was. He was too good for her.
No, no she was too good for him, she didn't want him, didn't need him. He wanted her, needed her, loved her. The need made her hate him; the want made her hate him; the love made her hate him. It was his fault, it had been his fault then, it was his fault now. He was stopping her from getting the package. She deserved the package, he should tell her where it was. He had to tell her where it was. She could make him.
No.
Better to persuade him, for now; just persuade him.
The cascade of thoughts took a fraction of a second, confused disordered, jumbled non-sequiturs that to her made perfect sense. Her expression did not change despite the diametric shift in her attitude toward him. She was too skilled in keeping her feelings hidden, in portraying to the world only what she wanted her audience to see, to give away her emotions in such an obvious way as changing her facial expression.
"You need antibiotics, something for the pain," She stated her concern, no longer real, just a means to an end.
"Hey, hey I'm the doctor here and I know what I need" he stated stubbornly.
Lydia shook her head. "No, you're hurt and you're sick and it's because of me. You need to stay here and rest. Tell me where the package is and I'll go get it and then this whole nightmare will be over."
House shook his head. "We still have to get Lawrence back."
Lydia almost laughed, almost told him of the lie; his concern was so genuine, so pitiful. 'Don't you know Lawrence is already dead?' "Just tell me where the package is?" She asked softly. "The first step is getting the package."
House shook his head, forcing himself against the grinding pain into a sitting position. "It's no good, even if I tell you," he stated. "Without me there's no way they'll give it to you."
[H]
Johnson entered his office, hot coffee in hand, ready to begin another day working on House's case. He shook his head in disbelief thinking about how a crippled doctor could manage to get himself in so much trouble, clearly, he didn't know House well.
"Are you private investigator Johnson?" The question was asked in a hostile tone by a tall, heavy police officer.
Johnson looked up; his eyes narrowing as he finally met the man's gaze. Still he did not speak, the long pause designed to be disconcerting to the questioner. He waited until the man looked uncomfortable enough, disconcerted enough. "I am, and you are?" Not that he needed to ask, he recognized Detective Sergeant Will Adams from the photograph in his file.
Adam's eyes also narrowed as he regarded Johnson coldly. "Oh, I'm sure that you already know that Mr. Johnson, since you've been all over my files. What I'd like to know is why the hell a small-town private investigator is just so fascinated in a civilian homicide." He did nothing to hide his hostility, his anger. "Since when do investigators get involved in a murder of one civilian by another civilian?"
"You're talking about the Lawrence Kane case?" Johnson asked calmly.
"Damn straight I'm talking about the Lawrence Kane case. You've had the autopsy report, the case file, dammit the crime lab even had a request for you to examine the trace evidence."
Johnson stared at him. "Yes, I see how that would make you curious." His voice was an icy calm.
Adams waited, clearly expecting Johnson to add something else, but Johnson just stared at him.
"So, are you going to give me some answers?" Adams asked.
Johnson looked at his watch. "You're late."
Adams frowned "late?"
Johnson picked up his coffee and walked around his desk. He was almost past Adams before he stopped and took a sip. He turned to look at him leaning his head across slightly; his voice was low. "If it was my investigation I would have been here at eight o'clock." He looked forward again and began to walk away.
Adams stared open mouthed for a moment, not quite able to believe that Johnson was actually going to walk out on him, a deliberate snub.
"Mister Johnson," he shouted angrily.
Johnson stopped and turned. "That's Private Special Investigator Johnson." He said in a mocking tone, clearly making light of the matter.
Adams ignored the correction. "You still haven't answered my questions."
Adams allowed another pause. "Well I'm currently on the way to a crime scene. If you want to talk to me you'll have to come back." Johnson stated his tone still showing no expression. Johnson was a goof ball but when he wanted to be he could be very intimidating, it's one of the reasons he's the best.
Adams bristled and his face flushed a deeper shade of red. Johnson was certainly pushing the man's buttons. Johnson had started to turn again so Adams was forced to ask the question. "When?"
"When I'm here," Johnson answered cryptically, then he turned and swept away. Johnson knew Adams had a history of not upholding the law as he should, information he has obtained from previous case files. He knew Adams would have a chat with him when he requested files about Lawrence Kane's murder since he is the primary officer on the case, but he didn't want to give him any information yet. He couldn't prove it, but he felt Adams was the reason House was holding his abdomen in pain the first time he exited his car on 1:00 p.m. on Saturday.
Adams was left standing silently in the middle of the empty desks, his fists clenching and unclenching in anger. He had come here for answers, to find out how much Johnson and the people who hired him knew. He cursed softly, Johnson had him over a barrel and he knew it. If he wanted those answers he would have to come back. He looked around him, focusing for a moment, taking in the names scribbled down on some of the papers scattered around the room. He clicked his notebook shut and stalked angrily from the room.
[H]
House took a deep breath and allowed a moment of doubt, not sure that he could actually do this. Just moving to a sitting position had sapped huge amounts of his energy, standing and walking seemed tasks that were way out of his reach, and then there was the pain. It was more than just the throbbing headache that sat behind his eyes, the stabbing white flashes that accompanied his every move. It was a feeling that couldn't quite be explained as nausea or dizziness, in fact, his vocabulary didn't seem to have a word to describe it. He just didn't feel right. It manifested as an almost overwhelming desire to just lie down again, to sink into an oblivion where maybe it didn't hurt as much, where maybe he didn't feel so... strange?... off?... not right?... It was a sensation he was getting used to fighting. He'd fought against it to clean himself up and get into work. He'd fought against it to get himself out of the hospital, but he wasn't sure that he was strong enough to fight it any more. It seemed to be increasing, strengthening its hold whilst his reserves were weakening. Giving in to it would be so much easier.
He looked up at Lydia trying to read her expression, which now showed more frustration than concern. He knew that he was being stubborn, but he really couldn't leave her to try to finish this on her own. He had to help her, had to try to save Lawrence, he had to prove to at least some woman in his life he could do the right thing, and that meant getting his sorry ass off this bed. He took a deep swallow and moved himself towards the edge. The pain that ripped up from his abused muscles was incredible. It took his breath, and he moved his arm protectively around his waist sucking in air as his feet planted on the floor, and he leaned forward slightly. He waited a moment for the spasm to pass.
"House?" the concerned voice only just registered.
He looked up, swallowing another couple of breaths. "I'll be all right when the muscles loosen up," he stated, forcing a tired smile.
Damn, he was stubborn, more so than she remembered. Fine, if he was going to insist on doing this she would have to help him. "Wait there," she said, disappearing into the adjoining room. When she returned she had two small bottles of pills with her. "Here," she said, shaking four tablets into his hand. "These should help with the pain and the inflammation."
House stared down at the small white pills, he recognized the Vicodin, but not the other tablets... still he was in no doubt that they were prescription only. "How...?" he began to ask.
"I threw out my shoulder a few months back," Lydia explained. "The doctor gave me these. I only just remembered they were still in my pack." The lies fell so easily from her lips, she'd had the tablets in reserve from before she went to the hospital to pick House up. They were easy enough to get if you knew how.
"Thanks." House took the half glass of water that she gave him and swallowed the tablets down together. He honestly didn't want the drugs, he wanted to stay sober, to be better, but he knew today wasn't the day for that; he would not be able to get out of bed if he didn't have something in his system.
Lydia took her hand in his, dropping to one knee on the floor so that he had to look slightly down at her rather than up. "Give them a little while to take effect," she said encouragingly. "Then I'll help you to the car."
House moved his hand up to her face and gently brushed the hair from her forehead, ignoring the slight shake. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll help you get out of this mess."
She smiled back at him. "I know you will."
[H]
Johnson took a sip of the fresh coffee as he stood and did a slow spin, taking in the area that surrounded the lot, trying to figure out what had brought House here on Sunday. Where had he been going? He stopped spinning but his eyes continued to study the surrounding buildings.
"There's nothing in the car to indicate why he was here," he said into his recorder, "no signs of a struggle anywhere near the vehicle, of course it's been here nearly two days and this is a busy lot so if there was anything to find chances are it's long gone."
Johnson observed the rental car being towed, "Where was House going?" Johnson asked himself as he once again scanned the surrounding areas. "There is a movie theatre." Johnson once again spoke into his recorder, "he could have been meeting someone there. Or the Friendship Station Post office." As soon as the sentence left his mouth he realized how foolish he was, House was attacked on a Sunday he wouldn't be at the post office. Johnson then observed the sign, 'only post office in town open seven days a week'. Johnson made his way inside, knowing House would need a fake ID to pick up someone else's mail.
[H]
Detective Sergeant Will Adams wasn't aware that the coffee cup in his hand was tilting until the scalding liquid splashed down the front of his shirt. It was enough to pull him back to his senses, enough to get him to close his mouth, which had dropped open in shock. He righted the cup, grabbing tissues to mop at the coffee as he leaned forward so that the wet shirt lost contact with his skin, but it was a halfhearted effort his mind was too preoccupied as he looked back up at his screen and swore. Getting into Johnson's files was too difficult but doing a quick google search of the names of the people who hired Johnson wasn't. He stared again at the face of Dr. James Wilson. He was in an article that was written about his contributions to Princeton Plainsboro's cancer research. He scrolled through the article and stopped when he came across a photo. Wilson and House were standing next to each other, under the photo it talked about how Dr. James Wilson and Dr. Gregory House have worked together on a few cases, showing that the diagnostics department has also contributed to the cause. Adams didn't give two shits about what the doctors contributed to society, what really scared him was the photo of House. The face that stared back at him was the face of a man he had shot; and now the entire diagnostic department team had one mission, finding out the person who did this to House and Adams knew it.
He swore again and just for good measure repeated it a few times under his breath. He dropped the soggy tissues onto his desk and picked up his phone. He dialed without even looking at the numbers, his eyes still glued to his computer screen. The line rang three times before it was answered. "We have a problem," he stated, "a big problem."
[H]
Lydia pulled the ringing phone from her pocket and looked at the caller ID only briefly before answering. She listened for a moment. "I'm sorry you have a wrong number," she stated calmly before hanging up and returning her attention to House.
If he was distracted or curious about the call it was instantly forgotten as she pinned him with the intensity of her gaze. He stared into the deep brown eyes that had always captivated him, and, for a moment, all the hurt from Cuddy faded away and he was back at Mayfield looking into the eyes of the girl he loved. The intervening years of heartache and pain and lost hope disappeared, and he felt that connection that he had felt then. He had opened up to her and offered her his soul, and he believed her when she told him he wasn't worth being with. He'd believed her so completely that he hadn't had the courage to try again since. Tears formed as the emotions slid back in, the moment lost as he remembered that she had rejected him, just like everyone else does.
"Shhh," she said softly, a slight look of confusion in her eyes as she wiped the tears away gently with her thumb. "Do you always cry when someone gets a wrong number?"
House couldn't help but smile, as the tension of the moment was broken. He studied her face, as she matched his smile with one of her own. "I'm sorry, I just..." he began but broke off, how could he explain the pain to her?
She watched as the smile dimmed a little. "Hey, it's okay, I'm sure they just dialed wrong."
His smile brightened a little, though it couldn't fully cover the sadness in his eyes.
"That's better," she said, relieved. For a moment she thought he had caught what the voice at the other end of the line had actually said to her, but his reaction told her that he hadn't. It was a call she was going to have to deal with later. For now, she had more important things to concentrate on. "You always did have a killer smile." She moved in a little closer, regaining the intimacy that the phone call had interrupted. An intimacy she was cultivating to get the information that she needed. "Now, why don't you tell me where we're headed?" she asked, innocently. "After all I'm the one who's going to have to drive."
House's grin broadened a little as he played up to the lighter tone. "Oh, really? What makes you think I'm not up to it?" he asked, the rarest hint of a mischief forming in his expression. Banter he could do, even when the whole world was crashing down around him; he had trained himself to plaster on his sarcastic mask and drop the quick quip. It was what got him through the day, most days.
"Do you want the full list or the abridged version?"
"Abridged."
"Okay, let's start with the fever, the inability to remain conscious for long, the..."
"Hey, this is supposed to be the short version," House protested.
"It is," Lydia allowed the smile to fade a little, "come on House, Where am I headed?" She knelt and leaned forward, pushing the hair off his forehead and running her thumb down his cheek with a casual intimacy.
He couldn't help but lean into it, relishing the contact, a real emotional contact that he wasn't running away from. "Short Hills," he all but whispered, "Head for Short Hills and I'll give you directions when we get close."
Lydia tried hard to hide the satisfied smile as she processed the information. Was that enough of a clue for her to identify the mysterious friend without needing further help from House? It probably was.
Short Hills, who did House know there? Who did he know that he would trust? She tried to mentally run through the list of names that she'd downloaded from his phone whilst he slept, but it was no good, there had been only a few but her memory with names was never good. She needed to check the file, search the list. She was pretty sure she could eliminate all of the women; House wouldn't trust one of them with something this important... unless he knew trusting a woman would be least expected.
"Lydia?"
She turned at the questioning tone and looked back to House sitting on the bed, an air of confusion surrounding him. She stared for a moment. She'd been so absorbed in her analysis of the information, she wasn't even aware that she'd moved, left him sitting there. Did she need to cover her actions, to keep him playing along? She sighed, there was a chance that she would need more from him. She'd better keep playing until she was sure. "I'm sorry House," She said forcing a smile, "Guess I was just keen to get moving and I forgot you need my help." She walked back towards him. "Come on, let me help you to the car."
[H]
Had it been a few years earlier Johnson may have had a completely different response from the post office workers. One used to have weeks of paper work with approval from everyone in the government to gain access to mail, but due a horrific tragedy on a September morning, that had all changed, to be replaced by a new spirit of almost eager cooperation with any agency who had a suspicion. Especially at Post Offices like Friendship station, where a positive test for anthrax resulted in a hefty dose of antibiotics and several weeks of fear for all of the employees.
"Hello, I'd like to speak to anyone who was working the counter Sunday after about 11:30 a.m.," Johnson stated as he put his badge away.
"Well, that would be me and Carl," the young clerk spoke rapidly. "And Nancy too except she's not in today but I can get you her address if you'd like." He drew in a rapid breath before continuing. "What's this about? Is there some sort of terrorist threat? I knew it, I said to Carl that..."
Johnson held up his hand in an attempt to stem the verbal flow. "No, no terrorist threat," he stared at his name badge, "Barney." He knew that he needed to squash that sort of talk immediately, or it would start a panic. "I just need to ask you some questions, about somebody who might have been in here." He pulled out a photograph. "Do you remember seeing this man in here at any time Sunday?" He held up a picture of House.
Barney took the picture from him and his eyes lit up with recognition. "I knew it, I knew it," He said excitedly, looking back up at Johnson. "I knew there was something wrong; I said the guy was acting suspiciously I even reported him to my supervisor, I knew!"
Johnson was forced to interrupt again. "You're sure you saw this man?"
"Positive," Barney confirmed.
"Did you actually deal with him?" Johnson asked, before the young man could start another commentary.
"Well no Carl served him, I just... well there's never a lot of people in that time on a Sunday. It's one of the lulls ya know? Which gives you time to watch what's going on. We were told to always be alert. I saw him, he picked up a package and forwarded it."
"So, what makes you think he was acting suspiciously?"
"Well it was mainly the other guys."
"Other guys?" Johnson's heart rate quickened at the description of the danger.
"Yeah, the ones who followed him in, they looked like... well like thugs, and he knew they were there too, except he pretended not to notice them."
"Could you describe these 'other guys'?"
"I just did, I said they looked like thugs."
Johnson resisted the temptation to sigh heavily at the answer. "I meant build, hair color that sort of detail," he stated, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
Barney gave a nervous laugh, "Erm, yeah well, they were both real big, and they looked like they were used to fighting."
Johnson bit his lip at the continued lack of anything helpful.
"And you can't remember where House" he caught himself and corrected it to the name House had given, "Where Mr. Kane, forwarded the package to?"
"Sir, do you have any idea how many pieces of mail come through here, how much we handle in a..." Carol interrupted
"Short Hills," Barney interrupted, "He had it delivered to a place in Short Hills."
Johnson had turned to lock his gaze on him and he shifted a little nervously.
"You're sure?"
"I just thought it was weird that he'd pick up a package and forward it immediately. I also got cousins in Short Hills," the young man answered. "That's how come I remember."
"Can you remember anything else about the address?"
Barney's brow furrowed in concentration. "No, sorry, nothing else."
Johnson smiled at him, "Well thank you, you've been most helpful." The beam he got back wasn't really justified by the faint praise.
"Anytime," Barney stated, "Any time I can help."
"Okay, do you think I could talk to your supervisor now?"
Johnson then followed Karen into the small security office. They stepped into the room, one side of which had the feeds from security cameras at various points in the building displayed on a half dozen or so screens. More CCTV footage- great, just great! His heart sank a little and he thought about another late night of shifting through hours of footage.
"I understand Barney reported someone who looked suspicious to you on Sunday. Did you follow it up at all?" Johnson asked as Karen turned to face him.
"You have to understand that Mr. Stone... Barney is a little, how shall we say, over-zealous." She gave a nervous smile as though looking for approval for her choice of words. "He reports between two and three 'suspicious' customers a week. If we passed them all on then... well suffice to say we wouldn't be believed if there was ever a real threat."
Johnson let his shoulders drop slightly "So you didn't take any action?"
"Oh no, we made a log of the event, noted the time code on the cameras and someone from security would have taken a second look, but," she swallowed nervously. "We usually don't take any further action."
Johnson made a mental note to say thank you for paranoid young postal workers the next time he prayed. "Do you think I could have a copy of that footage?"