CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Quiet Zone

House is glaring at them—well, trying to glare, anyway. It would be much easier to fix them with his steely gaze, he decides, if his eyelids would follow his command to stay in the fully upright position.

"Welcome back, House." Wilson says. "Though it's a little premature. You should be pretty much out of it for another hour, maybe two."

"If you two would save your rousing song and dance numbers for the stage," House mutters, "that would so not be a problem." And he proves it by nodding off immediately.

Cuddy and Wilson grin at each other, go over to the desk and sit. When Cuddy speaks, her voice is hushed. "So where do we go from here?"

"It'll take a couple hours for him to wake up like he means it," Wilson says in the same low tone. "When he's alert, we resume the Vicodin at the therapeutic dose, and then we pray that this lasts."

"No, I know all that. I meant what'll we do about the Vicodin? He's still an addict, and that's still a problem."

"Don't kill the diabetic," Wilson whispers thoughtfully.

Cuddy wonders if Wilson has well and truly lost it. "Was that supposed to be an answer to my question? Or just an indication that you could use a little more sleep?" she asks him.

"He said something to me last month--made no sense, just figured at the time it was one of those non sequiturs he likes to throw out; knock me off balance, get me off his case. We were discussing the Vicodin--well, I was trying to discuss the Vicodin--it was more of a monologue, really... And just before he stormed out of my office, he said 'You'd kill a diabetic.' He sounded...bitter. I didn't even try to figure that one out, but it was such an...interesting statement... it stayed with me. And I've got it now, and he's right."

"And?" Cuddy prompts; Wilson is so deep in thought, she's afraid he's forgotten she's here.

"He was trying to tell me that there's a difference between being addicted, and being dependent. A diabetic is dependent on insulin to function, to live. House is dependent on Vicodin to function. To live. If I were to judge a diabetic by the same standards I use to judge House, I'd want to take away the insulin. I'd kill the diabetic."

It's Cuddy's turn to be thoughtful now. "That may be the most brilliantly constructed analogy I've ever heard. And it's the truth. So we lay off him about the Vicodin?"

"No, not by a long shot—we can't. But we do it differently from now on. I'll pay a lot more attention to the time interval on his scrips. If his intake starts climbing, we find out why. There are still things we can do—switch him to Percocet, or even Oxycontin if necessary. We monitor his liver function. We monitor his mental state just as closely. And...we listen. He tried to tell us for, what, four months? This time, we listen."

Cuddy nods, says "He's not gonna be happy with us watching him...he's gonna make our lives miserable..."

Wilson laughs quietly. "And we'll be able to tell the difference, how?"

"Good point," Cuddy smiles.

"There's this, too," Wilson continues. "I don't think he's going to be quite so...resistant...to our concern. Oh, he'll talk a good game, but he'll realize that this time around we're really hearing him. And big, bad Dr. Wilson is gonna be laying down a couple of non-negotiable ground rules." He grimaces at the thought of that upcoming conversation.

"And, when the pain starts to become too much for him again—because it will—we repeat this procedure, 'cuz we've had so much fun this first time." He looks skyward.

"Sounds like a plan. But...I'm still worried. Odds are excellent this...dependence...will shorten his life..." Cuddy's eyes are sad.

"I know that, Cuddy—and so does he. But I'd rather he has some quality of life, and be around for the next thirty years, than that he's in intractable pain for the next forty...or until he decides that he can't deal with it...and then he's not around at all."

Wilson stands up. "It's 10:00am. Time to bring Sleeping Beauty up another level, gonna titrate him to 10."

And for the next few minutes, Wilson loses himself in caring for his patient as Cuddy thinks a very private prayer.