House left the women's bathroom and made his way down to the clinic by ten to five. His time in the bathroom had mostly been spent defeating video game zombies. At one point, a nurse had come in to use the lavatory, but she was scared away pretty quickly. Anyway, there was another bathroom on the first floor.
It was five to five, and House was signing out of the clinic. He was making his escape. He would ask Cuddy tomorrow. The Lady Behind The Desk was about to point out to House that he had never signed into the clinic when Cuddy stormed in.
"Uh oh," House said, turning his back on The Lady Behind The Desk. "My water's boiling."
Walking over to Cuddy, he said, "Cool down before you go up in steam. Although the world would probably be a better place if you did evaporate. Less clinic duty."
Cuddy was not appreciating fantasy of a clinic free world. "Where have you been?" Cuddy had spent all afternoon combing the hospital for House. She was sure she had lost a few years off her life in those hours.
"Why, Cuddy, I've been right here in the clinic. In fact, I was just signing out." House looked at his watch. One to five.
"Sure, House. I bet you never even signed in."
House twisted his face into a shocked and hurt expression, but The Lady Behind The Desk's smirk told a different story.
"House, what am I going to do with you?"
House's face lit up. "Well, now that you ask…."
Cuddy didn't think she wanted to hear the rest of that sentence. " I don't need your suggestions."
House lowered his voice. It was now or never. "You could come to my house for Thanksgiving."
Cuddy hid her shock behind a blank face. A million thoughts were racing through her head. She had never expected this. "A….a…..date?" She asked weakly. "House, you remember the last time……" Cuddy didn't get to finish that sentence.
"Not a date." House was slipping away from his comfort zone. He needed to do something, fast.
"I'm busy Thanksgiving." Cuddy wondered why she didn't just say no outright. She was remembering House's phone call. She didn't want to be in the same room as House and his Mom, let alone the same building. Besides, the last time she had gone on a date with House, it hadn't exactly had the best results. Cuddy tried not to think about it.
House knew Cuddy was lying. "I'll do three extra weeks of clinic duty." What! Three weeks! What was I thinking? How is that my comfort zone? I bargain for less clinic hours, not more! House was viciously interrogating his mind. Exactly how desperate was he?
Cuddy was thinking similar thoughts. The tables have turned! Somehow, the thought didn't give her much joy. She felt bad for House. At least, she thought she felt bad for House. Was it guilt? Was it pity? Something compelled her to change her mind.
"I give up. You win. I'll come." Thoughts were rushing through Cuddy's head, and she couldn't make sense of any of them. She looked at her watch. Five after five. "Go home. You already have three weeks of clinic duty ahead of you. A few more hours will seem like nothing."
House looked like he wanted to strangle and hug Cuddy at the same time. It made him look horribly hung-over. House just walked to his red corvette and drove home, his head as full as Cuddy's.
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House extracted the leftover Chinese food from the refrigerator, and sat down at his kitchen table. Most of it was still good, although the noodles were a little bit stale. He didn't notice. He wasn't paying attention to anything in particular. His head was swimming with thoughts, none of them comprehensible.
Depositing the empty container in the garbage, House dragged himself over to his tape collection. He randomly picked one, and inserted it into the boom box Wilson had gotten him. You need to keep up with the times Wilson had said. House had pointed out that Wilson still used his computer from 1987, at which point Wilson had hung his head in shame and begged House to forgive him. Or something along those lines. House couldn't remember the details.
House threw himself on the couch, careful not to lie down on his bad leg. He took a vicodin and tried to catch some of the lyrics to the song that was playing. He recognized the song as Poisoning Pigeons in the Parkby Tom Lehrey. Suddenly House realized how tired he was. He hadn't gotten much sleep lately. Taking one more vicodin, he let himself drift into sleep.
House was sitting on a bench in a park. In his hand he held a bag full of peanuts. One look at them told him they were poison. Briefly he wondered why he was carrying a bag of poisoned peanuts, when a pigeon walked by.
House looked into the pigeons eyes, and saw hunger and hurt. The thought came to him that this was House as he used to be. He reached inside his bag, drawing out a peanut. He knew he had to feed it to the bird. He didn't want to, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Nothing would deter him. He threw a peanut onto the ground in front of the pigeons face. The pigeon nibbled at the peanut, and was dead in seconds.
Just then, a second pigeon came by. This pigeon had a rumpled wing. At first glance, House saw it was broken. Again, a thought came to him, this time telling him that this bird was House now. House felt wanted to help this pigeon. It was damaged. It needed him. How could House not help this bird? He saw the pigeon was hungry. Instinctively, he fed the bird a peanut, not realizing until too late what he had done.
A third pigeon walked past House's bench. This pigeon was hurt, but it walked on anyway, proud. No thoughts came to House. At first he felt frustrated, and then he just felt happy. He liked the world, and it liked him back. He looked at the first two birds. The happiness evaporated. In its place came guilt. House looked at the dead birds and felt the guilt. He looked at the bag of peanuts in his hands and felt the guilt. He threw the bag behind him. A flock of pigeons came down, and one by one, they fell dead. House looked at them and felt the guilt. He felt their pain.
Pain.
Guilt and Pain.
His guilt and pain. Other's guilt and pain. He used that guilt. He threw it back at its owner. Sometimes it made him feel a bit guilty.
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It was doomed to be a bad day before the day started. Of course, this didn't become obvious until House came into work, late, of course.
House was opening the doors to the hospital. That would have been easy enough, if he hadn't been fumbling for the last vicodin at the bottom of the bottle. He reached into the bottle, fishing for vicodin, and completely lost control of the door, which swung into House's face. As if that wasn't bad enough, House spilled all his vicodin and lost his cane.
Desperately seeking a new owner after being separated from its previous one, House's cane came at Foreman's forehead hard. So at least that was amusing.
Foreman's forehead. Haha.
Foreman handed House back his cane, and gave House a curious look. Immediately, House's face went blank. The next moment, Cuddy's face was in it.
"Clinic duty. Now."
"You should be nicer to me. I know which poisons can be disguised in foods."
"So use that information to cure your clinic patients."
"I think JLo currently holds the award for lowest neckline, but you come in a close second."
"Tell that to the clinic patients."
"Alright, alright. Just don't come complaining to me when your turkey smells funny. But first, I promised Vicky I'd meet her. You wouldn't want me to go back on a promise?"
House brandished his empty bottle of vicodin and limped down the hallway. Saying limped is unnecessary, since we know he didn't run down the hallway, but I need to put something there. I, being a figure of your imagination. Anyhoo, Wilson was not in for a fun day.
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Wilson was not impressed. "You dropped your precious vicodin?"
"Yes, my precious, greg greg, must have my precious. Kill the nasty Wilsoney, greg greg, my precious." House could do an impressive Gollum impression. By now, Wilson was past being impressed by House's charades.
"I just gave you two days ago."
"I'm not that old. I can still remember things. Now go get me a refill."
"Tomorrow."
"Will be another day. Can I have a refill? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?"
"Fine." Wilson was tired of House's whining. He found it easier just to give in sometimes. House could be so childish sometimes. Wilson wasn't quite sure how he came to be friends with House. He remembered that night, of course. It was a night at the bar…...but that's another story. Wilson dragged himself over to the pharmacy, sighing as he went.
House was more desperate for vicodin then usual. He had had a very strange dream the night before, and it was haunting his thoughts. He had also just realized that it was Monday. Mom and Dad were coming on Wednesday. If House survived that long.