Title: Five Ways Out of Hell
Author: sy dedalus
Rating: T
Pairing: House/broken heart
Warnings: Drinking, sex with strangers, general Housian masochism
Summary: House's five ways out of hell following "Need to Know." Couldn't keep my paws off this one.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to get this out before the new episode tonight. There's one more chapter left (five ways out five chapters), but it will have to wait till tomorrow. :)
4: Pain
"House!"
Unwillingly, House cracked an eye open. Cuddy. Standing inside his office?
"What?" he said.
She wasn't wearing her usual death glare this morning. Instead, she was concerned. Very concerned. He recognized that concern: that was infarction-era concern. That was Stacy-just-dumped-me concern. Hadn't she figured out that he wasn't into women who pitied him? He thought all the things he did to piss her off might be a hint…
She was holding back questions, he could tell. And she'd taken just a hair too long to respond.
"I'm working," he said, not bothering to move for her. "Go away."
"Your patient is stable," she said softly. "You don't have to be here today."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, indicating he'd like to get back to what he'd been doing.
Cuddy—he couldn't believe this—Cuddy actually squatted next to him.
"House," she said as if she were about to give him very bad news and wanted to make sure he'd be able to handle it, "are you okay?"
House sniffed. "I was fine until you showed up," he said, but it lacked the bite he usually directed toward Cuddy.
She paused again, considering her words, choosing carefully. "You smell like a bar. That's fine. That's understandable. But…" She looked into his eyes, asking the question again. Are you okay? "Why are you here?"
House rolled his eyes. "Because I work here," he said. "I thought that'd be obvious even to you."
She gave him another one of those enormously, nauseatingly sympathetic glances.
"I don't need to talk," he spat, "and I don't need anyone to hold my hand. Goodbye."
Cuddy took the cue this time, but her gaze lingered, still soft, still concerned. "You know where I'll be," she said.
She left and as he was rolling his eyes again, he caught a pitying look from Cameron through the glass wall of his office.
Oh. That's why Cuddy had come to see him. She was going to report back to Cameron and then they'd…whatever. He should've known.
Cameron held his gaze for a moment, then looked down.
House snarled to himself. That was it. Sheets that smelled like Stacy were better than pitying glances and soft words.
He got to his feet, cane in hand, made sure he had everything he needed, and left for the parking lot.
"Greg," she said softly, coming up to him as he limped toward the physical therapy gym, "I heard about what happened. I'm sorry."
"Sorry does me a whole hell of a lot of good, doesn't it?" House growled. "Sorry makes it all better. No limp, no fights, no nothing."
She was still walking with him. He glanced over at her.
"Why aren't you out living it up with your gal pal?" he asked angrily. "Or is this her way of checking on me? Making sure the poor, depressed cripple doesn't hurt himself?"
"I'm here because I want to be here," Cuddy said. "Just because you hate it, the world doesn't automatically hate you back."
"Are you coming on to me?" House said.
Cuddy glared at him. Just as quickly, her expression softened again. "If you need to talk…"
"I'll come running to you as fast as I can," House said nastily. He stopped, hand on the gym door and stared hard at her.
She took the hint and backed up a step, but before she left, she said, "I'm here for you."
"Aren't I special," House said, pushing the door in and leaving her behind him.
House sped past the city limits sign, feeling the bike hug the road and his body hug the bike. It felt good. It hurt. The dealer had customized it for him so he wouldn't have to use his right leg to shift gears or brake, but having to hug his leg to the bike as he sped through turns made it unhappy. Exactly what he wanted. A rush of feeling.
He was unconcerned when he saw flashing lights in his mirrors. He'd expected it, ignoring the speed limit as deliberately as he had been.
He pulled over on the shoulder and killed the engine, left foot planted on the gravel. License, registration, insurance. He had all of that. He gathered it and hoped the cop would get out of his car and get it over with before he needed to stand up. He hadn't taken a Vicodin since he'd stood outside Coke Chick's apartment this morning. He wanted to feel it. He was feeling it.
At length the officer opened the car door and began to approach him. By then, House was more than feeling it and he was much more than cranky.
"License and registration."
House handed them over. The cop was very young. Very very young.
"Do you know why I stopped you?" the cop asked.
"You had nothing better to do," House suggested with a sneer. His leg was really starting to ache.
The cop narrowed his eyes but attempted to remain professional. "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Fast enough that you dropped your donut," House said. He nodded to the powdered sugar dusting the cop's dark blue uniform shirt.
The cop looked down at his shirt and clenched his jaw. "Sir, insulting a police officer is classified as assault under New Jersey state law," he fired off.
"Good to know," House said cheekily. "Can we speed this up? I've got things to do."
The cop narrowed his eyes even further. He was about to go back to his cruiser when House could no longer stand the ache of straddling the bike and began to pull his cane out of its holster.
The action wasn't especially quick, but the cop was young enough to let a biker who was insulting him make him jumpy.
"Drop it!" he yelled, gun in his hands before House knew what was happening.
"It's just a—"
"I said drop it!"
House looked tiredly at him, pausing before he spoke. "Hey, moron," he said, "did you not see the great big wheelchair on my license plate? It's just a cane."
"Sir, drop your weapon and step away from the vehicle."
House shook his head, laughing. "You've got to be kidding."
The cop was absolutely serious. "I repeat, drop your weapon and step away from the vehicle."
House had sensed all along that this kid wasn't messing around, but only now did he heed that intuition. He let go of the cane, quickly flipped the kick stand with his left foot, and slowly drug his leg across the bike, one hand on the left handlebar, the other on the seat. Once he had both feet on the ground, he slowly turned around, right hand replacing his left hand on the left handlebar, until he was facing the cop.
"Step away from the vehicle," the cop demanded.
"I can't," House said.
"Sir, step away from the vehicle or I will have to resort to force," the cop said, gun still drawn.
"Are you deaf?" House said. "I. Can't."
"This is your last warning."
House rolled his eyes, sighed angrily, and making the bike take his weight, stepped forward with his left foot. Quickly, his right foot joined it, but with nothing to balance his weight and his leg already tired and hurting, he fell with a sharp cry, catching himself with his hands before he could hit the gravel.
The cop jumped and pulled the trigger, aiming for House's left shoulder. Nothing happened. He realized when he saw House land and push himself into a sitting position—clearly non-threatening—that he hadn't taken the safety off. He was immensely relieved.
House glared at the cop, trying to keep pain off of his face, and watched the young man shakily holster the gun. He rolled his eyes again and without thinking, reached into his jacket pocket for his pills.
The cop had the gun back out before House could say anything.
"Remove your hand!"
"Relax," House said, taking his pills out of his pocket. He thumbed the cap off and shook one into his hand.
"Relinquish those drugs," the cop said.
House popped the pill into his mouth, replaced the cap, and offered the bottle. The cop took it quickly, gun still in his right hand.
"It's pain medication," House said. "Prescribed to me. For my leg. Which you just made me fall on."
"This is a narcotic," the cop said.
"So you can read," House said. "Good for you. It's mine. It's legally prescribed to me. Give it back."
The cop studied him. "Sir, you have given me reason to believe that you are under the influence of narcotics."
"Duh," House said. "Legally under the influence."
The cop wasn't listening. House rolled his eyes, muttered something to himself about trigger happy cops, and sighed again.
"Look," he said. "I was speeding. I insulted you. You thought I had a weapon. All right. Go around and look. It's a cane. Notice the guy in the wheelchair on the license plate while you're over there. I'm having a bad day. I'm not trying to hurt you." He gestured to his body. "I can't even get up."
The lack of satire in House's voice convinced the cop to put his gun away. Carefully, he stepped back to read the license plate. He glanced quickly back at House in case House was trying pull something. No. He quickly stepped to the right side of House's motorcycle, glancing back at House again, and saw that it was in fact just a cane. House sat there, his face saying 'I told you so' and beginning to express the pain he was in.
The cop glanced from him to it and back again.
"Do you need this to get up?" the cop asked.
"Yeah," House said.
The cop nodded to himself and returned to the place he'd been, collecting House's license, registration, and insurance card from the ground. He went to the cruiser and returned with a citation pad. House ground his teeth but said nothing as the cop wrote out a citation.
He handed House a citation for speeding and not wearing a helmet and returned House's cards and pill bottle. When he didn't move to retrieve House's cane, House looked up at him. Realizing this was the cop's revenge, House gritted his teeth again and silently put the bottle, cards, and citation in his jacket pocket. Great.
They stared at each other for another moment before the cop offered him a hand. Knowing he had no other options, House took it and let the man help him up.
"Watch your mouth," the cop warned as soon as House was supporting himself with the bike again. House sneered, but his back was to the cop.
He heard the cop walk away and painfully lifted his right leg over the seat. Dammit, but this did feel good. He wanted it to hurt. For once he did get what he wanted.
The cruiser's lights were still flashing when House cranked the engine. Muttering to himself about stupid pigs, House drove away.