Title: Cabin Fever
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Right at the end of Babies and Bathwater, Cuddy got a conscience, Vogler took his $100 million and left. What if Cuddy never got to see House in action that last time?
Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing. Still. Not even pity.
Author's Notes: I haven't forgot about this fic, honest. blush
Chapter 4
2 A.M. already? Ugh…Deep breaths.
Where's the Vicodin? I know I left it-…
In the kitchen. Damn it.
Of all the days to leave it in the kitchen…what was I thinking? Or not thinking. This unemployment thing is getting serious. It's making me delusional and absent-minded. That's bad. I'm not absent-minded.
There you are. You must have been hiding. Naughty. Down you go…
Wha-? 1 in the morning? No, it can't be. Must have been a power outtage. It's still 2. Of course it is. Wilson will have the time. Call him tomorrow. Today. Whatever.
JJJ
House woke up another two times between 1 and 8 A.M. It might have been 9 if House still bought his power failure excuse. He was beginning to suspect that his beloved Vicodin was betraying him. He hadn't noticed the night before, but he was taking more than normal. Wilson was going to whine at him. Guilt him into a week sans Vicodin, just to see if the hospital had produced abnormal results. House wasn't keen on asking Wilson for the time of day yet.
He'd wait until things got really bad. He wasn't totally sure he'd call then either.
JJJ
"You're kidding me," House muttered. His finger ran up the inside of the amber-coloured tube as a last resort. He'd had pills stick together at the bottom during humid days. That's what happened, it had to be. The label was just obscuring the pills at the bottom. His finger traced every inch of bottle and still encountered no rogue pills
"Damn it!" He scowled. The pills hadn't lasted nearly as long as they were supposed to; the bottle was gone in roughly half the time that it normally took him to finish hospital brand product. He went through the first one like a handful of candy, and he'd taken the last of his second bottle a scant ninety minutes ago. Now, he had nothing to get by on. Even worse, he was going to have to go outside. He was going to have to shell out more of his severance pay that was better spent on booze and food. His leg twinged in pain.
"And so begins the self-destruction," he muttered dryly. Yep, he was utterly doomed. He knocked back the rest of his coffee and called a taxi.
JJJ
"Uh…you're only good for one refill," the pharmacist said. The same one who had first served House a scant three days ago. Two bottles later, House was back and waiting on a third.
"…What?" House's brow furrowed. Cuddy wouldn't have done that. She would have made sure there wasn't a limit on refills. Cuddy wasn't totally heartless.
"Sorry, sir, but you reached your limit on refills. You're gonna' need another prescription."
House remained motionless for the better part of a minute. His mind ranted and cursed every family member Cuddy had ever had. He'd even started in on the BFF's when he shook himself out of the red haze. His knee tried to buckle, but House kept it in check.
"Give me a bottle of Ibuprofen, then. Make it quick," House snapped. His gaze alighted on a tube of similar painkillers to the left of the counter. If the kid already had those pills out, it'd be a breeze.
"Sir, that's in Aisle 5, you can purchase it yourself," the kid huffed.
"Is it such an inconvenience that you can't get you ass off your cushy stool, pick up the bottle in front of you, and hand it to me; or are you so incredibly incapacitated that you don't deserve to live and work in a functioning society because your mother drank and smoked when she was pregnant with you? Are you a certifiable idiot and not even capable of a vegetative state? I demand service!" House yelled. "I am in pain, you dolt! I don't have time to stand around waiting for your brain cells to form a coherent statement! I need Vicodin now!"
"Sir, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have you escorted from the store." The manager had emerged from his cozy room in the back. "If you're in serious pain, I suggest you get to the teaching hospital that's not too far from here.
"Where do you think I got the first prescription, genius?" House shook the empty pill bottle for emphasis. "This idiot says it's only good for one refill."
The manager inspected the label. "Well, he's right. It is only good for one refill. I'm sorry, sir. I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from calling my staff idiots-"
"They are! I asked for Ibuprofen and I was referred to Aisle 5. That is a perfectly fine bottle of pills right there. I refuse to walk to Aisle 5 when I'm being mercilessly teased."
"Sir, that's-"
"Stop calling me 'sir.' It's annoying."
"-another person's prescription," the managed pressed on firmly.
"Give him another bottle. I bet he won't know the difference. I'll pay for it; I have money-"
"No, it's not legal. I will personally get you a bottle of Ibuprofen if that's what you want, but you can't have pills from this pharmacy without a prescription."
A shiver went up House's leg. The pain was mounting and he'd told the taxi to wait outside. There was no winning this round. He held his tongue and limped away from his assembled observers. "What are you looking at, tachycardia?" he growled at a man who clutched a McDonald's bag in his fist. The man backed away, but House was still in a foul mood.
As predicted, he found the pills in Aisle 5. He turned to the manager-he had doggedly followed House from the pharmacy-and stuck a ten-dollar bill in the man's hand. The manager glanced curiously at the currency before crying out in alarm when House tore the cellophane wrapper off the pill bottle. The childproof cap was next, then the cotton swab stuffed into the top. House tapped two pills into his palm and swallowed them whole. There were no welcome Vicodin vibes; his leg throbbed furiously. He had a sinking feeling that it would take quite a bit longer for there to be any difference at all.
"Sir, you can't do that! You have to check the pills out and pay for them properly!"
The manager was shouting.
"You have money; I have pills. Win-win," House muttered. He limped past the irate man who gripped House by the arm.
"Put the top on those pills an come with me."
"You know, you're not getting me to go anywhere. You don't get enough calcium. I can tell. You're going to fall on your ass and break a hip and only have yourself to blame. Your grip is weak and sad. Eat more dairy, or don't even try and intimidate people." House scoffed and left a paranoid Rite-Aid pharmacist manager in his wake. He had better people to chew out.
JJJ
"Why was I just refused a bottle of Vicodin?" House demanded. Cuddy stopped and turned. She looked dumbfounded to see House again, and in the lobby of the hospital no less. It hadn't been a week.
"I don't know, why were you?" she asked. She would allow him a few minutes of conversation. She needed a break, and House looked good for a couple of laughs.
"The guys at the pharmacy told me your signature was only worth two refills," House glowered. "That's funny. My signature used to demand respect."
"And now it's washed out and useless?" Cuddy held out her hand for the pill bottle. House looked peevish as he gave her the tube. Her shot had been far below the belt.
"Kind of like you, sitting in Vogler's pocket, but who am I to nit-pick? Just sign another prescription and I'll be out of here for another couple of days."
"Ballsy. Very ballsy, House." Cuddy handed the empty container back. "You're going to have to get it somewhere else."
"Excuse me?"
"You went through those pills at the rate it takes you to get through one bottle. You're going to OD if you're not careful and I'm not going to be responsible," Cuddy shrugged. "Go get high at someone else's expense."
"You think I'm high? I hurt! I'm high off not feeling pain! Rite-Aid cuts their product with something cheap, which is why I went through it so fast. I suggest you do a study on it, but in the mean time, you're going to kill me with Ibuprofen and chicken soup. This time, I'm not even going to get the satisfaction of gloating at you. I won't let you."
"I'm sorry, House, but some of us have to get back to work," Cuddy pointed out. She turned and started walking away.
"You can write a prescription."
"Any moron can. It's just a matter of whose signature has influence."
"Thanks for you wisdom, Dr. Cuddy. Gee whiz, I feel so enlightened. Tell Vogler he trains his staff well. Even the decent ones are turning into pricks," House spat. Cuddy ignored the shot and continued walking. It was just as well, House would never admit that he'd just called her "decent." The things he'd do for a rise these days.
He considered chasing her down. He began to follow when he caught sight of the security guards. He thought the stupid stunt wasn't worth the trouble, but they might be gentle with him. Former doctors still had to demand some kind of respect, right? He blew past the guards, intent on catching Cuddy.
"Sir! Sir, you're not authorized to go down there!"
House rolled his eyes, not slowing his gate. He hated it when people behaved the way he expected. A hand grasped his arm and tugged him to a stop.
"Sir, what are you doing?"
"How many people are going to grab me today?" House muttered irritably.
"Sir?"
"I'm not finished with Cuddy. I need to talk to her."
"She seems to be finished with you. Please follow me, sir."
"No, thank you." House jerked his arm out of the guard's hand.
"Sir!"
"Do I have a nametag on my chest? My name is not 'Sir,' and it never was. If you want to make yourself useful, you can skip back to your post and look for real perpetrators. I am going to find a competent doctor to suit my needs. That okay with you or are you going to yell at me some more?"
"Sir, all incoming patients without an appointment or need of immediate medical assistance are required to wait in the Clinic."
"I spent two hours in there last time, and I'm not about to do it again."
"House, you're causing trouble again?" a voice announced. Both the guard and House maneuvered to better see the new presence. Foreman was looking carefully, if sheepishly, smug. He approached the guard and nodded reassuringly.
"It's okay, he's with me," Foreman told him. "You can go back to your station. I'll take full responsibility."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" House asked softly as he looked around the hospital. Foreman elbowed him before shrugging at the guard. It was awkward, but it did get them an empty hallway.
"Why are you picking fights with security?" Foreman asked. He started towards the conference room, assuming House would take the hint. Even if Chase was only slightly more conscientious about Clinic duty than House, the room would be unoccupied at that time of day. They'd be fairly inconspicuous in there.
House followed Foreman, attempting to look like he was being led somewhere important. If Vogler saw him, there would be no doubt that it would turn into a Hollywood Deathmatch. Then, House eventually realized that he'd been asked a question. "I wasn't picking a fight with security, I was picking a fight with Cuddy," he answered after a moment.
"What sort of an idiot would you have to be to do that?" Foreman allowed House to enter first.
"A cheated one." House sat down at a table and immediately propped his foot on it. Just like old times.
"Cuddy didn't kiss you goodnight on your last date?"
"No, and she didn't give me a sound prescription, either."
"Prescription?" Foreman asked. House gave him a bored look. "Oh, right. Why wasn't it sound? Was it for Preparation H or something?"
"Har, har," House snorted. "It had a limit. And Rite-Aid's Vicodin is 75 crap. Now I'm running on fumes and Cuddy's being righteous. You see my problem."
"Indubitably," Foreman rolled his eyes. House took the opportunity to inspect a coffee cup and make his way over to the pot for a fresh cup. Foreman watched the pain crease House's forehead from the simple movement, wondering what he could possibly say to his former colleague as the other man fell into his chair again, exhausted. "What are you getting by on?"
"Hugs and beef broth. Does wonders." House didn't look up from his coffee. Not that Foreman hadn't expected it. He let House put the cup down before continuing.
"What really. Benadryl or-"
"The other one," House sighed in exasperation. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this curiosity. They were his pills and his life. Dependency on other people just plain sucked.
"Cuddy may have a fair reason for not letting you have a prescription. You haven't gone insane from pain yet, have you?"
"This from the man who insisted I lose the bet and take the Vicodin?" House snapped.
"This is different. You're not about to kill someone if you don't concentrate hard enough," Foreman argued. "Why don't you take the time to detox now, while you're not endangering anyone?"
"Endangering? That's rich. Thank you, Dr. Foreman, for having so much faith in my abilities. Now, I really have to be getting home so I can stab a meat cleaver in my leg, but you're welcome to watch if you're into that sort of thing. It's kind of frowned upon in this profession, so make sure you don't tell anyone."
"House, if you're going to kill yourself, I don't want to hear about it. Not from you, the TV, or the papers." Foreman sighed. "How much were you taking before Vogler sacked you?"
"You're writing a prescription?" House asked incredulously.
"Everyone wants to see you dead," Foreman answered. He looked engrossed in the pad of blank paper he'd drawn towards himself. "You diagnosed the Kaplan kid. That shows dedication. Someone at this hospital will realize you're not a total ass. You just have to make sure you're there to prove it to them when they come groveling."
House raised an eyebrow. Foreman's speech had been mildly intriguing. The pills he promised, more so.
"I'll get you the hospital kind when you need it. You'd better make sure you don't OD or it'll be my ass right there with you."
"Deal." House extended his hand. Foreman gripped it steadily, a serious look on his face.
"Deal."
Honour Roll: Zorrita: I've not seen anything by way of a House/OUATIM crossover, but I would so read if there was. Merrie: Pink Floyd! More! Is it wrong to have fun writing Cuddy? Nayvera: I'm so bad at spelling. That's what computers are supposed to do, but fail miserably at. Sigh The Orange Elf of Oblivion: The world is utterly doomed. House isn't taking it so well either. Roo88: Writing evil is fun. Snark and evil are just great things to think up. MagickalStar135: Truth be told, it helps to have people come after me with pitchforks. I never remember to update otherwise. A little fan-encouraged motivation never hurts anyone. Grin. Catherine5: Don't mind at all. Go nuts. : )
