Chapter 05 – Promise
November perceived the noises around her more distinctly, felt that, one by one, everything came back to her more clearly. She was awake, but kept her eyes closed. For the first time since what felt like an eternity, she felt well again. Grounded, sure that she would not be haunted by whispering hallucinations. She took a deep breath. Nothing hurt anymore. Finally.
This horror trip ... it went through her head - she furrowed her brow broodingly. How much time has actually passed, she wondered. With all that I've been through recently, it must have been weeks? That question remained foggy rather than clear, pushing its way through her thoughts. She opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on the ceiling above her. Barren, boring and white. She looked straight ahead. A TV on the wall. Her wheelchair was beside her at the bed. Her gaze fell on the spoke guard, eliciting a smile. She let her eyes wander around the room. A table, two chairs, the glass door, and the windows gave a clear view of the corridor, where busy nurses, doctors, and churned up relatives bustled about. On the wall next to it, a narrow cabinet. At the same moment, in her left hand, she noticed her pendant, which she still held tightly enclosed. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the ceiling, smiling.
Less than half an hour ago, Foreman had appeared in House's office and told him that November slowly but surely was wakening from her twilight sleep. House had, as so often, just nodded silently, but immediately after Foreman was out of sight, made his way to November's room. He was keen to be there when she woke up and to take the chance to ask her some questions. Before nurses and other care staff would pepper November with questions about her relatives and her favorite food. He wanted information, unfiltered and first hand.
So, House had now stood in a back corner of the room, quiet and motionless, for a quarter of an hour, where November could not directly see him, but from where he could observe her. He had watched as her eyes moved behind her closed eyelids, as she had looked around the room curiously, and as she had discovered the pendant in her hand. Determinedly, House took a step out of his sheltered corner.
November turned her head to the side. Beside her bed he stood. House? went through her head, brow furrowed with the thought of having caught that name several times somehow and remembering it vaguely. But she did not say it. Glad that he was there, and because she did not know what to say now really, she just picked up where she had stopped the last time and began in a low voice in his direction: "Expecto Patronum".
With a perfectly straight face, House stared at November with his cool eyes: "I've said it before, I'm not your stag."
With a firm look, November looked back at him and straightened: "As my doctor, you will always be that!"
With a still unapproachable look on his face, but his tone carrying just a hint of something intangible that did not quite fit the look and probably would have been lost on anyone who did not know him well, House countered: "Who says I'm your doctor?"
A little confused, but also spurred on by the fact that he had just denied being her doctor, November replied, "I think I remember you standing in front of me, giving instructions to the nurses and saying something about treatment. Or do you want to tell me now that that just was my jag? "
An amused grin briefly flashed over House's face. She clearly wasn´t born yesterday! She seemed awake and in her right mind. He wanted to coax a little more out of her, draw a few answers from her, to the questions that had not left him alone for days already. "The intoxication wasn't bad, was it?" he asked, but did not allow enough time for her to answer. "I admit, I have never had a patient who brought his or her injecting equipment to admission."
"Even if I'm missing a few brain cells, I wasn´t born yesterday," November retorted nonchalantly, as if she could read his thoughts. "In these matters, I like to stay in control," she added. "Yes, the intoxication was not bad indeed." November replied with a brief smile and lowered her eyes to her blanket. "Until the moment of surprise." She paused for a moment and continued, "Oh, and as for the other patients, they're idiots! Apart from that, I had not planned to come here either way."
She was being evasive. House had the impression that he had to pester her a bit more before he got usable answers from her. "Yes, yes ... the hydrocodone," he said, sighing, looking up at the ceiling, "No bad stuff, huh?"
"Well, my doctor all right!" said November, smiling triumphantly, raising her index finger in the air. "Yes, it is quite pleasant," she continued, with a light voice, and observed him closely. "But it was the H.," she said after a short pause.
"Hmm," House replied, looking back from the ceiling directly at November. "Maybe I should try it sometime as well! A mixture of Vicodin and heroin, sounds somewhat tempting." His voice sounded exaggeratedly ironic and somehow childish. In a fraction of a second, he was serious and matter-of-factly again. "How does a student of psychology get a hold of stuff like that?" he asked in a harsh tone and stared at November.
"Uh, by a dealer ?!" answered November, somewhat puzzled by a question with such an obvious answer. "I have nothing left, though, unfortunately, that was the last shot," she countered House's irony. "Do you at least have a chemist on my blood to find out what else that asshole has palmed off on me? If I'm already here anyway, I can get some use out of it just as well." She retorted, staring back at House.
Oh no! Not now! - House thought as he felt a sharp pain spread in his leg, while November looked at him incessantly with the same intensity as he did at her. Not just that he was about to get bogged down in his conversation - November apparently seemed to be more difficult to crack than he had guessed - no, now his leg was interfering on top of that! "You´ll have to solve your issue with your dealer yourself, you know. You do not always know what you are buying there right then ... Better for you to not take any drugs in the first place! "
Her eyes intensely rested on his leg before she looked him in the eye again. "That's a sign, isn't it?" she said softly, almost cautiously, leaving no way for House to react to it. So, the comment hung in the room, before November continued to talk, directly to House again, "Or you go straight to the next hospital with your needles and provide yourself there! You think I meant to do that?" For a moment, she turned her gaze away from House pensively. Images of her arrival at the clinic suddenly appeared before her inner eye, "Where exactly am I here, actually?" she asked, turning back to him.
"Room 304," House replied curtly, seizing the opportunity to take her question ironically. The short flashing of his eyes immediately gave way to a stiff expression. Increasingly clear, the piercing pain ermerged, penetrating into his consciousness. In his mind, he repeated the words November had said. "That's a sign ..." And how that was a sign! And she had noticed it, although he was doing his best to not let anything on. It reminded him again of their encounter at night on the street; there he had thought to have felt something like "connectedness" between himself and November ... But now they circled around each other, like cat and mouse, not trusting each other and making it as hard as possible for each other to progress in the conversation. Lost in thought, House rubbed his right hand over his leg, which was possible since he had walked over to the cabinet in the meantime and was leaning his back against its door.
"Mhh." commented November thoughtfully, and wondered what was going on even. Why was he so unapproachable now and where had all that she had appreciated so much during their first encounter gone to suddenly? And yet. Despite all this, November still felt something of this support, which she had been able to perceive from the very beginning by his presence. She lay back in her pillow and stared at the ceiling. She struggled with herself. Did not want to play this unpleasant game, which made her more and more angry. After a few seconds of silence, she began in an almost apologetic and sad tone, "I was searching. For answers, did not want to feel the pain anymore."
"Sounds familiar," House replied, surprised by his own words. But a short look at November was enough to make him feel that he would not regret his openness. He reached for his cane and, not without a moan, dragged himself back from the cabinet to Novembers bed. Or, rather, her wheelchair, which was right next to it. He simply could not stand any longer! Taking a deep breath, he dropped onto the seat and cast a friendly look at November, who was still lying on the bed. The first really friendly look, which reminded again of what they had had together on the steps of the house entrance.
November looked down from the ceiling when she noticed that House was moving and watched him as he dropped onto her wheelchair. She knew this feeling all too well herself. When her calves burned painfully because she'd been standing somewhere for too long already - the pain that settled down deeper in her thighs with every passing minute, when she walked further than she really could. She returned his friendly look with an equally friendly and genuine smile. And for a moment, she felt like she had gone back in time to that night when they had been sitting on the stairs.
Even though he was now sitting and not standing anymore, the pain did not lessen. He thought about the Vicodin in his pocket, struggling with himself. Should he just take it out of his pocket and pop it as casually as if it was a simple chewing gum? Would she comment on that? What would she say? - Why was he thinking about it at all? Otherwise he did not care either. However, he did not feel with other patients that they could sense his pain, as he knew how to hide it so well. It was no use, the initial pulling and tingling by now had become a pain that no longer could be suppressed. As if in trance, his hand slid into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little orange tin. House knew that November was watching him, feeling her curious look resting on him. But he could not help it. His desire for relief was greater than his strength to bear the pain. He quickly popped one of the pills and then looked at November. "You're going to be on substitutes anyway, until the end of your withdrawal," he commented, trying to be casual, but he failed.
"Want one too?" he asked, addressing November, extending his arm and offering her his Vicodin, rattling the tin.
When she heard the sound the pills made in the tin, he had her. She just could not resist, so at that moment she did not even care what he was offering her at all. On the other hand, he probably would not kill himself with such a thing and more than obviously was in pain actually – the thought shot through her head before she grabbed the tin and popped one of the white pills as well. "I don't want substitution! It will also work without a substitute." She replied to House's information, which almost sounded like an already established arrangement to her.
"So?" House asked artificially, and could not quite hide his honest astonishment at her answer completely, "And that's exactly why you were grabbing at it just now, right?" he continued to unsettle her, did not allow her to counter but asked right away, "How many times have you already gone cold turkey?"
November looked at him for a long time. His words seemed to affect her. "Often enough," she finally replied evasively, because at that moment she did not even know herself exactly how often she had needed to come off. When she could no longer bear this world, she had shot herself up again and again until now, to not break. Somehow she had come out of it again and again.
"If it did not work out the first time," House began, his voice getting unpleasantly icy and indifferent, "then it will not work the second, third, or nth time either!"
November took her gaze from him as if she could escape his voice and words like that as well. She ran her hand through her short hair, looking to the side. House was still sitting in her wheelchair. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. Feverishly, she wondered what she should answer, wanting to retain the upper hand, and she wanted to have her desire, but actually she knew she did not want to hear the truth and he was right. It was not only life that demanded the substance, but also the body and the mind, without the intolerability of the world being the cause. Again and again. After each withdrawal, anew. Sooner or later. Sometimes more, sometimes less. She breathed heavily and lowered her eyes, her head hanging toward the bedspread.
House could see it in her face and could feel as well that he had shaken her with his harsh words. He knew only too well himself that a repeated cold withdrawal promised little success. But what was the right thing now? He was suddenly unsure of how to enforce his opinion. Should he drive it home the hard way? Or did November expect encouragement from him, by any chance? House settled on a mix of both. "You know that I am right," he remarked in a still sharp tone. House tilted his head to the right side a bit, his hands folded over the handle of his cane, trying to establish eye contact with November. Somewhat subdued, he added, "This time it'll work. But only with substitution."
November raised her head and sighed. She did not have a choice anyway, and she had just landed there because of him, and it would only be too stupid if she were to let this chance of spending more time with him go unused. "On one condition," she began, "only if YOU were the only one treating me," she said in a determined, serious voice, meeting his gaze firmly. "I can't stand other people," she added and with these words her blue gray eyes showed a "Help me!", which seemed to say: "This path I can only walk down with you". She did not want to suffer anyone who did not understand her getting a glimpse of her broken soul.
A cheeky smile played around the corners of his mouth and for a long moment he pondered. November looked intensely and almost pleading into his eyes. He knew that look. Not from her, but from the mirror. It was an unwelcome mix of courage and determination, but also of anguish and fear of what was waiting for you. A withdrawal, whether with or without substitutes, was no cakewalk, depending on the psychological and physical condition of the person affected. This, too, he knew from his own experience, even though he thought he would never say it to November that openly. A cheerful smile replaced his deepened thoughts again, as he said, "Agreed! I can't stand other people either."
November smiled knowingly. "Okay," she replied and looked at House with a mix of challenge and joy.
"Good", House confirmed, feeling, to his own surprise, as if he had made a pact with November in that moment. Leaned on his stick, he rose from her wheelchair and crossed the room in direction of the door.
"Where are you going?" November called after him, as he was about to leave her room.
House heard November's voice behind him and turned around once more in the doorframe. With a superior expression, he looked over to her patient bed and said, not without taking delight in his cynicism, "Save ungrateful patients' lives, harass my team, make my boss see red and contest my best friend for his lunch. Going to be a hard workday!" With these smug words and an uninterpretable grin, he left her room.
She heard the joy in his words and said pensively, "Have fun. To get some rest, you´ll have me then." Her words though didn´t reach him anymore but empty space. And in this moment, November as well had the feeling to have made a pact with him, which in this clinic only the two of them would know about.
For a while, she lay in her bed pensively and thought about what just had happened here and what lay before her now. Her pendant, which she still held in her hand, she set on the small wheeled cabinet right next to her bed. November's gaze fell on the patient gown she was wearing. A mix of gray blue color, with light blue spots. Hideous, she thought and pulled a face as if she had some disgusting food standing in front of her right now. She hated those patient gowns. Simply didn´t feel well in them. Still somewhat exhausted, she stood up, walked over to the locker and opened both doors. Her backpack stood inside of it. Next to it, the clothes she had worn when she had arrived. She took her backpack out of the locker, sat down on the bed and took out a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweater. She did not wear anything else apart from the patient gown and panties. She took off the ugly shirt and put on the sweater right away. She loved it. Cut loosely, brown, soft, cozy, hooded. Perfect for hiding in and under it. Then, with an effort, she put on the sweatpants. Putting on pants had been more difficult than anything else always, because of the limited mobility. But the effort paid off. One feels much better right away, she thought with a smile on her face. She took her pendant and put it around her neck. A question that preyed on her mind instantly was that of the contents of the pockets of her pants. She took her backpack, set it back into the locker, took the dark gray pants from the stack and sat back on the bed to pat down the two big pockets searchingly. Frightened, she flinched. The fear was literally written all over her face. For both pockets were empty! Neither the album was there nor the dope and also not the light brown leather case with her needles. In this first moment, she did not know what was worse. She lowered the pants to the bedspread, pulled the hood over her head and slumped across the bed. Thoughtfully, she gazed up to the ceiling. Asked herself, where all of that might be now. The dope probably isn´t even here anymore, annihilated. Just like the utensils. The more so as House had dropped that hint. Guess, I can forget about that. Will have to get new stuff, it seems. But the album. Where's the album!? it shot through her head desperately. Where did it go, WHY is it gone in the first place and who has it now?! She rubbed her hand over her face and tried to think clearly, grabbed for her pendant. "Where are you?" she whispered silently to herself. She sat up again. Then without, for now. Somehow. I´ll find it back already. This is a clinic, damn it, something like that can´t disappear for good here. Drugs, I won´t need again so quickly probably, after all, I found House now, November thought, looking around.
With every minute more that she spent in this room, she felt more uncomfortable. The slats of the blind closed, she sat in her wheelie and left the room. With the blinds closed, it would not be noticed so soon that she was not in her room. She pulled back the hood and rolled through the corridors.
On the same floor as her room was only the Department of Diagnostic Medicine. Dr. Gregory House. As told by the lettering on the door. So here is where he is working and here I also now have landed, thought November and stayed for a brief moment to observe what was happening in the meeting room right now. House had a pen in his hand and wrote something on a whiteboard. In front of him was a long, big table, three people - apparently, employees – in white coats sitting at it. They seemed to be discussing something November could not make out. She watched as House leaned his head back and popped another of his pills again. As he lowered his head and closed the tin, their eyes met briefly. November smiled fleetingly and decided to disappear before she was found out, or one would wonder why she was looking into the office all the time. He must be really suffering considerable pain if he is constantly taking this stuff, went through her head on her way to the elevator and the ground floor.
Everywhere in the hall, seats were distributed. Exam rooms, outpatient area, patient rooms, emergency room and at least as much colorful activity as in November's ward. She rolled toward the reception area and was now right in the middle of it. A strange feeling now to be here again, without me being so bad off, she thought, as she watched a new emergency patient being brought in by the paramedics. Quickly and concentratedly, they brought an unconscious person into one of the shock rooms, so that they could be cared for appropriately. In this place, there was a strange fascinating tension in the air. On the one hand, the people who experienced this here day by day, for whom it was normality and their daily work routine, and on the other hand, the people who did not really want to be here, for whom life just was being thrown off the track. Those who arrived here full of fear, need and pain. This mixture of complete helplessness and absolute concentration and presence attracted November magically. She loved to be in the middle of it all, indifferent and unnoticed by everyone else, observing such scenes. People walked or ran around, tense and busy without really taking notice of her. Smiling, she still stood in the middle of the lobby of the PPTH and watched the critical care paramedics disappear in one of the exam rooms with the patient.
It had put House a bit out of his stride, when he had, absorbed in a meeting with his team, looked at the corridor through the glass wall, and spotted November there. That she had left her patient room and now was rolling through the corridors, seemingly curious, somehow made House uneasy. Sure, she was not actually sick, not bedridden like other patients, and he could quite understand that it quickly got very boring to lie in the same room alone all morning, but still, her joy of discovery made him skeptical.
After quickly finishing the morning team meeting, he had set off to follow November. He did not quite know himself what made him do so. But the answer was probably a mixture of many reasons. Since on the one hand, he was bored when he sat in his office all day long without a task, refusing to show up for clinic duty, or to work off the annoying paperwork, and on the other hand, he was simply too curious to let her go unobserved. An inner instinct told him that it would be worth it to be close on November's heels.
It took him quite a while to find her back in the spacious corridors of the clinic. Especially since November with her wheelie was considerably nimbler and faster than he on three legs! Leaning on the railing on the upper floor, House looked down into the lobby. It was crowded although it was Saturday. But that had rather little meaning in a hospital. It was always busy, at any time of the day or night and independent of the day of the week. His gaze swept over the crowd – here, an elderly man with a hat, sitting on a bench, looking as if he was asleep, or perhaps, because of the long waiting time of the clinic, had already died unnoticed, there, a woman with a crying child on her arm and a second loudly crying child in the buggy in front of her, which she rocked to and fro stoically, and there, one of the receptionists who jumped from her chair with a sharp scream because she had spilled her hot coffee over the keyboard and immediately began to sweep up the mess, cursing ...
House's gaze did not rest for much longer than a second on the many faces he scanned in the short time. His pair of blue eyes continued to roam the hustle and bustle, until he discovered what he was looking for. November!
She sat in her wheelchair, in the thick of the fray, and seemed to be watching the hectic scramble around her with obvious interest. She seemed kind of uninvolved, but at the same time right in the middle of it, House thought, while his gaze remained fixed on her. Attentively, he watched as November set her wheelie in motion and rolled towards the big fountain.
It fascinated November. In all this bustle, it was quite soothing to watch the water and its movements, and if you were close enough as well, to hear its soft murmur. November stayed there for a while, watching the water. With this, you can shut off everything else damn well, went through her mind, after she noticed how quiet she was breathing by now and how little she was aware of the rushed and constantly talking people around her.
House still stood on the upper floor, looking down into the foyer. He had walked a few yards along the railing to have a better view of November. With an alert eye, he watched as she stood motionless in front of the small waterfall with her wheelie, staring dreamily at the flowing water.
Suddenly, a paramedic ran across the hall, thus attracting House's attention. His shouting was so loud that he could hear it up where he stood. "Crash!" the guy called again and again and hurried to November. Curiously, House observed the situation.
Completely concentrated on herself and rapt in contemplation of the water, it took a while until the words reached November. "Crash! Crash!" the shouts came from a distance. "Crash!" Then, finally, November reacted and turned in the direction from which she had heard her nickname. A young man – about her age, with slightly wavy brown hair and a prominent chin, about 6″1 tall and slender - came towards her. There was no doubt. It was clearly her best friend Ben Fender. He wore a bright orange jacket, set off with dark blue on the shoulders and on his back, as well as silver reflector strips. Under the jacket, simply a white T-shirt. His pants were also bright orange and set off with dark blue on the calves, also with reflector strips. "Hey Ben!" November said, beaming, stood up and hugged her best friend long and cordially.
House watched November and this paramedic hug each other and limped to the elevator as fast as he could. He had to take a closer look! Why was a simple paramedic interested in his patient?!
"What are you doing here?" Ben asked as they were hugging.
"I'm living up to my name again," she replied ironically, to avoid telling him the whole story for now, as well.
"But what are you doing here?" November added with a questioning look and released him from her embrace. "You're in the New Jersey General, actually, aren't you."
House stepped out of the elevator and stared at November and the stranger who was standing next to her. She seemed to know this guy, who had to be about her age, well. Because of the far distance, however, and the loud tumult in the entrance hall, he could not understand what the two were saying. But nothing held more interest for House in this second than the conversation between November and this man. He just had to get closer to the two. But he could not simply walk through the lobby ... He needed a hiding place! Not an easy task with his body height. Letting his eyes roam, House dismissed one object after the other until one of the big palm trees appeared in his field of vision.
Next to the fountain, several seating groups were arranged, between which tall and wide palm trees stood, in huge immobile planters. Just the thing, he thought, sneaked cautiously behind one of the green plants and ducked his head. He felt a little bit like Sherlock Holmes, at that. With the fingers of his free hand, he groped for one of the finer-limbed branches of the palm tree and pressed the leaves slightly downwards. Through the resulting gap in the dense foliage of the plant, he continued to observe November and the paramedic unknown to him.
"Teaching hospitals simply are more exciting than the big giants," Ben followed up with an explanation and shook his head, smiling. "I'm not anymore in the Jersey since this month. From now on I'm working here in the Princeton. Rescue service and emergency room," he replied.
"But not because of me?" November asked back, smiling as well.
"Well, if you are to be found here more often from now on, then that would be quite worth a thought." he replied in jest.
Ben felt how good it was for him to see November again after these weeks of radio silence between them, and above all, how wonderful it was to see such a familiar face in his for him still new work environment. "I'll invite you for a coffee," he said brightly. November looked up at him skeptically. "Sorry, for you, of course, a hot chocolate, I keep forgetting that you don't like coffee," he replied. Laughing, the two of them crossed the ground floor in the direction of the cafeteria.
A rough and scratchy harrumphing jolted House from his observations back into reality. Beside him stood a spritely elderly woman, in an unfathomably ugly pink-gray tweed ladies' suit, her slightly trembling hands supported on her walker, and her face, furrowed by deep wrinkles, disfigured unrecognizably by the wrong use of too much make-up. In a jarring and age-appropriately thin voice, she spoke to him in a reproachful tone: "You are standing in the greenery, young man!"
Perturbed by the sight of this stone-age dinosaur, it took a moment for House to find his tongue again. "I am the gardener, after all!" he replied snappily and was rewarded with the desired reaction, namely, that this strange creature turned up her nose and turned away from him, and creeped into another direction. Only then did House take the time to look down himself. He stood, indeed, in the middle of the greenery!
His gaze fell back on November and the man in the paramedic uniform. Just now, they were walking through the large wing door to the cafeteria. House emerged from behind the green palm plant and tugged some annoying leaves from his clothes, which was observed with some skepticism by the surrounding people. But that did not bother him any further. He had to hurry if he wanted to keep up with them. In the cafeteria, it would be much harder to creep up on them undetected.
He had not walked five meters yet, when the pager beeped in his pocket. Annoyed, he pulled the small thing out of his pocket - Wilson! Not that as well! Why now of all times? He turned on the spot and went back to the elevators. Brace yourself, Wilson, he thought, while he stood in the elevator, heading up to oncology.
Ben and November made themselves comfortable with a drink for each of them at one of the many tables. "Nice to see you again," Ben began, taking off his jacket, turned off his small, square-shaped pager, let it slide back into his jacket and leaned back with his cup in his hand, relaxing.
"Very nice," said November, who had changed her seat by exchanging her wheelchair with one of the chairs in the cafeteria and just now was enjoying a sip of her hot chocolate. It was clear to her too, now, that the quarrel, which had been the reason that they had not talked for so long, had to be settled. Ben was just too important to her for that. "Let me guess," November began, looking at him seriously and firmly, "You're no longer with that Chloe?"
"You're right," Ben replied, lowered his eyes and sipped on his coffee.
"Didn´t I tell you right away that such a chlorine-freak is a bad match for you. Always just swimming on her mind! Instead of you," November replied with a mixture of understanding, but also anger in her voice and wondered a bit herself about this coincidence that hobby and name of this person were so close to one another. "Because of her, you dumped me, after all! You knew just how much I wanted to visit the concert of my beloved band with YOU! And how rarely the guys are playing presently! Just because of this Chloe," November said angrily. "I'm really mad at you," she continued, but this time, much more sadness and anger about Ben having stood her up resounded in her voice.
In a soothing tone, Ben began, "I know, I know. You were right, once more. I'm really sorry now that I stood you up, even though I knew how much you care about that concert. But it was certainly not the last one. I'll make up for it," Ben said, raising his index finger in the air with a serious expression. "Promise."
"Okay, I'll surely pin you down to that at the next concert," November said with shining eyes. "You can be sure - I won´t forget that!" she warned Ben euphorically.
"Guess I have no choice," Ben said, raising his cup of coffee in the air. November followed suit. "Here's to friendship," replied November, glad that the friction between her and Ben was finally cleared.
Relieved that November was no longer hurt and mad at him, he took another sip of his coffee. With a serious and at the same time concerned voice, he asked November, "And now seriously. Why are you here?"
November hesitated, thinking. It was her friend Ben she sat with here, face to face. The friend she had known since high school and with whom she had already experienced so much. No stranger, no unknown person. There was no one else in her life whom she trusted more. Sooner or later, the two would meet anyway, especially now, with Ben working here, she thought to herself. And so, November told him finally what she had experienced. She began with her fall in the bar, the nightly search for the lost pendant, this special encounter with House, the tormenting days after, the intoxication and its consequences. "... and now he's my doctor and I'm among the living again since a few hours." she finished her story about the events of the past few days.
"Oh damn, Crash," Ben commented the story with a shake of his head and an incredulous smile on his lips, "you really lived up to your name."
"I swear, it's true," November said seriously and with a firm look to Ben. "And now I'm stuck here with the withdrawal," she replied and emptied her hot chocolate. "And without any stuff at all. I even have to get new needles somehow., Ben, if I'm to overcome this, you'll have to get me dope," she whispered to him, her hand placed on his right forearm and her head close to his face. Ben closed his eyes and nodded silently and almost imperceptibly. November took her hand from his forearm, at which her eyes fell on his Carpe Diem tattoo. A curved lettering with wide lines that ran from his wrist to the crook of his arm. She knew this tattoo and its meaning for Ben only too well. He could not refuse her request, since he knew what she'd been through in the hospital, and how good it did her to turn off all these memories, and he himself had never mustered the perseverance to give up smoking pot completely. In addition, the friendship to November for him was linked to far too many moments together, which had helped him as well through difficult times, to let her down now.
"Don't worry, Crash," Ben whispered, emptying his coffee. Then the two said goodbye with another long hug. "See you soon," Ben said. "And if you need anything else, tell me!" Then he went on his way home
November stayed behind.
With a quiet "ping", the doors of the elevator opened, House turned to the right and set course for Wilson's office. Walking down the long corridor, his thoughts circled around this paramedic whom November just had met in the entrance hall. Why had he called her "Crash"? And who was he, at all, that she had hugged him so cordially? It ran in his mind and the feverish search for answers led him to consider the most diverse theories.
Perhaps he was an acquaintance of hers who had come to visit her? But then he would not have worn a paramedic uniform! Or was he her boyfriend? But then she would certainly have asked for him in the first days, or he would have been looking for her! Maybe he was her dealer? But a paramedic who was pushing drugs and in plain view of everyone hugged his client, that did not make any sense either ...
House's deliberations tumbled over each other, and it was only good that he now had reached the door of Wilson's office and had to concentrate on something else. To find out what it all was about with November and this guy and why he called her "Crash", there would still be enough time later.
Without knocking, he entered the room and began in an annoyed tone, "I hope you have a good reason to page me right now? I was just about - "
"Hey," Wilson interrupted, "why so unfriendly right away? I actually just wanted to ask you if you could take a look at this?" Wilson added, pushing a thin folder towards House.
"What is it?" the latter asked in a harsh tone, although Wilson very obviously had presented him with a patient's report.
"Take a look," Wilson said, prompting his friend with a glance.
"Is it a patient of yours?" House replied with a counter question, but made no effort to look at the document.
"Look at the file," Wilson replied curtly.
"Let me guess," he began, as he sat down on one of the chairs, opposite Wilson, "it's about-"
"House," Wilson interrupted, "just look at the file!"
His right eyebrow raised slightly, House, now curious, after all, reached for the thin blue folder. He opened the first page and began to read. As early as a few sentences in, he stopped and looked up to Wilson, "You paged me because of such a trifle?", he asked without understanding.
"Wow!" Wilson commented his friend's upset mood, "I really must have interrupted you in the middle of something very important." Cynically, he began to guess, "Playing GameBoy maybe?"
House did not comment on Wilson's speculations.
"By the way, Cuddy is looking for you!" Wilson said after taking the file back from House, who apparently was not in the mood to do him a favor. "She said you still owe her several hours in the clinic."
House, who had just stood up to leave, only gave an incomprehensible murmur. He had almost left the office when he turned back to Wilson. "Wilson?" House hesitated for a moment, "Have you seen November this morning?"
Surprised, the oncologist looked up from his desk. "No, why?" he replied. House left his friend's question unanswered and disappeared.