Chapter 6 - Gregory House
The hours had passed, now he was alone.
After scouting the hospital, his team had given him some information that he had hoped would shake something up inside him, but nothing had happened. A few hours later he was officially released.
So now he was back in his office, alone and in silence, still turning or throwing the red ball in his hands and lost in thought.
After looking at his office, he had suggested mimicking a normal workday and the team had been dragging him along diligently and they obviously wanted to help him. But House had to admit that not only his personal and private memories were gone. Professionally, he was probably at most at the level of an amateur. He'd read in the disappointed looks of the team that he couldn't seem to answer even the simplest questions, and that really bothered him. If he was such a distinguished doctor that a new department was started just because of him, then his current performance must have been more than disappointing. He had been assured several times that he couldn't help it, that he didn't remember, didn't know or understand anything, but although he knew that, the failure gnawed at him. He felt miserable, all alone in the dark, blind and deaf. He appreciated the efforts of his team, but with every question asked they brutally reminded him of what he had lost.
House grimly turned 180 degrees in his chair so that he could see outside through the large window front. The setting sun bathed the sky in red, orange and yellow tones and the wind gently pulled through the leaves of the trees. As he envied the peace out there and sank his own head into chaos, he kept rubbing evenly over his damaged leg. He remembered Wilson's story of his injury and broken marriage. While the information had shocked him, it touched him far less than it probably should. He couldn't establish any emotional connection to this situation, he didn't feel like he had actually experienced it himself, and while it had certainly not been an easy experience, he wished he could remember and empathize with the feelings of that day. Because the way he was now, he felt empty.
His dark thoughts slowed when he heard the door of his office open behind him. He swung his chair back to the starting position and looked at Wilson, who had entered and was walking towards him.
"How are you?" asked his best friend and sat down on a chair across from him. House sighed in frustration.
"As well as you can get in my situation," he growled in response. He didn't want to be unfriendly, after all Wilson had always been there up to now and he made an effort, but House could hardly stop his inner restlessness.
Wilson seemed to understand and smiled gently.
"It'll be fine," he replied. Unfortunately Wilson was a lousy liar, his body language said something different, it told of doubt and fear, feelings House could share. But before he could think of an answer, Wilson continued. "Do you want to go eat something?"
House hesitated for a moment, wondering if it might not be better if he spent the rest of the evening alone and tried to collect himself. But if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn't want to be alone and that the company of a friend might do him good. So he nodded, grabbed the cane propped against his desk, and got up.
Wilson went ahead and led House into the hospital canteen. Even at this very late hour of the day, quite a few hospital employees gathered there, eating and talking to one another. When they saw the two doctors enter, a few scrutinizing glances were directed at House, who was clearly uncomfortable. He read in their eyes that they knew about his complaints and some couldn't quite believe it. However, some looked at him as if they were indulging his predicament.
"I have to be a very complicated person," he concluded, standing in line at the food counter behind Wilson. He tried to ignore the inquiring looks of the other doctors and was relieved to find that some were back to their own lives.
"Let's say you're a little bit of your own," came Wilson's response after a moment of hesitation, which was why House knew immediately that he was probably understating. However, he didn't ask any further questions, instead he chose something to eat and rummaged in his jacket's pocket for money. He didn't find any, and there were no wallet or loose bills in the pockets of his trousers either.
"Shit ... can you lend me some money? I'll pay you back later," he asked Wilson grumbling and caught a long, thoughtful look. At first he thought his friend would coldly refuse the request, because he stared at him really long and intensely. In the end, however, he nodded and paid for their two meals.
House had a question, which Wilson had apparently already read in him and answered immediately.
"You never ask for money," he muttered as they found a table with two chairs and sat opposite to each other. "Most of the time you just assume that someone will pay for you."
House unpacked his sandwich and frowned at Wilson.
"Doesn't sound nice," he muttered thoughtfully and took the first bite. Wilson didn't reply, he just shrugged. Only after a while did a verbal answer follow.
"That's the way you are."
House left that uncommented and sank back into his own thoughts during his meal, although Wilson's words echoed in his ears. Up until now he had asked himself many questions about his old life, had no answer to so many things, but only now did he begin to have serious doubts about what kind of person he had once been.
Up until now he had rated Wilson as very friendly and accommodating, empathetic and full-time concerned. The fact that someone like him was his friend had to say something about his own personality. In House's eyes, such a kind-hearted person could only be friends with someone who was also one of the good guys.
But the looks of the strange doctors, some of whom he could still feel, did not get out of his mind. In them he could read contempt and disapproval, and they heralded some of the deepest glee. For another person, a colleague at that, one would probably only feel something like that if something was wrong with said person.
"Can you drive me home?"
Wilson looked up from his meal and frowned, then nodded. They finished in silence, and no sooner had they finished, House put their trays on a cart and grabbed his cane. He wanted to leave. Secretly, of course, he hoped his home would shake old memories.
Together they left the hospital canteen and made their way to the exit, through the large entrance hall and past the glass door of the ambulance. Wilson told him trivial little things that House could hardly concentrate on, instead his blue eyes carefully scanned the area and finally got stuck in the ambulance waiting room. Through the door he recognized the waiting, sick patients and their relatives, as well as doctors and helpers walking around. It was late, after seven in the evening, and it was still so busy.
House stopped suddenly, despite Wilson, who only noticed a few steps later that his friend was no longer following.
"House?" he heard Wilson's voice in the distance, but it sounded dull, as if someone had stuffed his ears with cotton wool. His thoughts slipped away from him, he lost the feeling in his body, but he wasn't dizzy or nauseous. His wide-open eyes followed a figure he could see through the glass door, a little boy crouched on the floor of the waiting room, getting in the way of the doctors while he played and laughed with his little toy car. The little children's hands grabbed awkwardly at the model of a monster truck and House thought he was going to pass out. But it wasn't darkness that clouded his senses. Suddenly he thought he was in a different place. He had slipped out of his body, finally he saw himself sitting on a brown leather couch, next to him Wilson, and the two of them stared together into a flickering television, in the screen of which huge trucks were driving each other over. They both laughed, clinked glasses, swore or shouted cheers.
And then, all of a sudden, he was back in the hospital, staring into the ambulance. His friend had come back to him, he had grabbed his shoulders with both hands and was shaking him vigorously until House finally turned his head and looked at him.
"My goodness, House!", Wilson rebuked audibly stressed and let go of him, wiping the emerging sweat from his forehead. "What got into you?"
House opened his mouth, but he hadn't gotten his voice back, so no sound came out. His numb senses slowly became clearer, and he gradually realized that he had just gone through what would be generally referred to as a "flashback". His heart was pounding.
"I thought you were going to fall out of your shoes," Wilson babbled on frantically. House knew he had given him a real scare. "Is everything ok?"
Carefree and in good spirits, he passed Wilson.
"Everything's fine, Jimmy."
This time it was Wilson who stopped and didn't follow. And House knew exactly why. He had heard the nickname in his brief memory from his own mouth, apparently he liked to address his friend that way in private.
House turned to him slowly, triumph in his blue eyes, victory over a small part of his memory lapses. He grinned tellingly at "Jimmy" and saw from his changing facial expression that he understood. Joy entered the friend's worried expression, he caught up with House and they left the hospital side by side.