Floating

Chapter 9

Home. He had been sensible and allowed Wilson to drive him home upon discharge. He was still tired and with the hallucinations still plaguing him, the last thing he needed was to be driven off the road by something or someone who wasn't really there. He hadn't gone through all of this to end it all on the ride home. That would have been a little too ironic, even for House.

For what it was worth, Wilson was apologetic in the extreme that he had fought House on the procedure, calling it too risky. He had already seen a change. House seemed…well…as happy as House could seem. He appeared to have arrived at a sort of peace with himself.

"Want a beer?"

"No. Date tonight. And I want to be sober. And you shouldn't be drinking. Not until you're free of side effects. As if that's going to hold."

"I wasn't planning on drinking. I am high on life. And that's enough for me." House's voice dripped sarcasm.

"Put it on a bumper sticker. I'm going home. Enjoy this, House. It's a second chance."

With Wilson gone, House explored his apartment for the first time in over a week. His cleaning service had been by and at least the dishes were washed and the expected layer of dust was missing from all of the expected places.

He glanced at his answering device. No messages. Not unexpected. Who would call? House's eyes rested on the lock box. His morphine rescue kit. First aid for the mortally in pain. Picking it up, he wondered what he should do with it. Break the vials? Lock it and flush the key down the toilet? He considered his options before carefully replacing the box on the top shelf, burying it behind several medical texts and journals. He would try to forget where it was, lying to himself that he had. But knowing where it was. Just in case. Ketamine was a treatment. Not a miracle. And he didn't believe in those anyway.

The piano. He had missed it. Listening to music was too passive. He needed to feel the vibration of the strings in his fingers and his feet. In his head. He played late into the night. It didn't matter what. Beethoven; Mozart; Scarlatti; Monk, Peterson, McPartland, House. He didn't care if the neighbors complained.

Every eye amongst the PPTH staff was on Dr. Gregory House as he strode into the hospital. He had removed the helmet and leather jacket and was walking briskly to the elevator. Had it not been for the slight limp to his gait, some might have missed the fact that it was, indeed, Gregory House.

Wilson met him at the elevator. "Is it Halloween? No. Let me guess! Lawyer. You're dressed up as a lawyer. Clever costume. No one would ever guess."

"Only flaw in your reasoning, Jimmy, is that Halloween is three months away. Don't rush the season."

"OK, so it's not Halloween. What's with the getup?"

"It's my Monday outfit. Off-white…more cream colored, maybe. Linen. They get progressively darker as the week goes on. For Friday I have a cute little undertaker black three-piece. It's the new me. Seriously."

"Right." They got off the elevator, going in opposite directions.

House entered the conference room, facing the three fellows for the first time since the shooting. He glanced at the white board, momentarily seeing Moriarty's face hovering just to the side of it. He looked away.

"Good morning people. No referrals this morning. Hope you've all had a nice break. I know I have. Use this morning for writing and research. I know you all have journal articles in progress. Let me know if I can be of any assistance."

The three doctors had been gawping at House since his entrance. This, they continued to do, stunned at the transformation.

"Cuddy told us about the Ketamine. You were taking a big risk. You could have all sorts of lasting side effects." Foreman had thought that barely-studied procedure was too radical. Typical House.

"Including the one biggie. No pain. I like that one. It's a keeper."

"You have no pain?" Cameron was incredulous.

"Yeaahh…I'm betting that I'm not half as attractive now as I was a week ago. Still have the gunshot wounds tho. Lots of stitches, so…"

"You're still an ass."

"But a well-dressed and pain-free ass. But, yes, Cameron. No pain. Not from the leg."

"How does it feel after all those years?"

Honesty time. "Good, Chase. Great, actually. I'm going to my office. Catch up on my email and other assorted goodies. Come get me if you need my input or we get an interesting case."

House walked across the outer office, purposely avoiding the area near the white board, afraid of what he might see; might remember. Stepping into his private office, he threw his jacket and bag down on the desk. Picking up a stack of mail, he settled into the Eames chair. Even the simple act of sitting seemed to provide a new pleasure.

But now what? The mail was still boring. He was still riding the high of improvement in his leg, but he was exhausted. The dreams were still making his sleeping hours unrestful and the hallucinations kept in a near constant state of wariness when he was awake. Even coming in this morning had cost him. He was drifting off, a medical journal falling from his hands.

"Dr. House?" Cameron had quietly entered the inner office. House startled, knocking the entire stack of mail from his lap, scattering it into a pool at the base of the easy chair.

"Boring article. Total snooze-fest. What's up? Have nice break from me?"

"I just wanted to say that I'm glad the procedure worked. When it happened…when you asked me to tell Cuddy to give you Ketamine, I had no idea…I mean…But I wanted you to know that your wishes were made known. I didn't want…"

House nodded, understanding. "Thank you." His voice was quiet. Sincere. Like when he had thanked her for not intruding upon his dinner with Blanche and John.

"Do you know how long it will last? How long until you'll need to do it again?"

"Could be six months; could be a year. The pain could be re-triggered an hour from now. There's no way of knowing. There's a small possibility that the pain will never return in the same way…or creep up to the level it was a year ago. Or be more severe than it was two weeks ago. There's just no way to know."

"I know it's hard for you to…you know…accept help…especially from me…from us. But I just want you to know that if there's anything I can do, anything that you need.."

Another tight nod. House drifted back to sleep. Real sleep. He did not dream.