Chapter VI: Internal Vices: Guilt & Blame

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"House?"

An impatient rapping against the glass door of his office followed the annoyed tone. Silence followed, and the tone waited another moment before trying again. "House?" There was a sharp edge to the voice. Constrained. On edge.

Still no reply.

A painful rap on the door sounded. A sharp intake of breath, then: "I know you're in there — House!" The door slammed open, sending the shutters scattering around the glassed-walls in pained disorder.

At the sudden noise, a disheveled-looking House blinked open a weary eye from his computer chair. He was lounged back, both feet propped against the desk, his cane hung around the back of his chair precariously and about to fall off. His head snapped up at the angry tone screeching his name, and he regarded the source — one very pissed-looking Cuddy — with mild interest from behind sleep-deprived, tired eyes.

"It's too early for me to deal with all of your administrative neediness, Mistress DreamKiller," he groused in tired annoyance as he struggled to keep his eyelids apart. In his conscious state, he became painfully aware of the jarring throb in his neck, the pain radiating upwards dully giving him a headache. He should have supposed sleeping as he had in a stiff-backed computer chair would cause some sort of muscle discomfort.

"Don't be cute!" Cuddy snapped back, waving his comment aside listlessly. "You were supposed to be in the clinic almost two hours ago."

"Only two hours ago, huh?" He yawned, pulling himself from the desk and straightening himself out with a reproaching crack from his back as he did so. He rubbed at his eyes gingerly.

"Only?!" Cuddy fumed. "House—" she stopped, proper words failing her. Taking a collective breath, she forced the last words out; they sounded clipped, painful to the ear: "—Just. Go." She motioned towards the office door with an angry wave of her hand.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, swiveling around in his chair to face her. Deftly grabbing at his cane, hooked around the back of his chair, he made to stand in one fluid motion. Almost succeeding.

Almost.

Immediately, as his cane met the carpeted floor and he pushed himself up, he staggered; his injured leg crumpling uselessly beneath him like tissue paper. Catching himself quickly on the edge of his desk, he let out a low, painful curse. "Damn…" he hissed, blowing air out from between his lips shakily, his breaths coming in slow, uneven drags; his eyes clamped together as white-hot daggers of pain sliced through his thigh muscle, agonizing chords rippling through the muscle fibers.

Cuddy made a hasty move towards him. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice hitching in worry, taking a quick step in his direction.

Not answering immediately, he waited a few moments for the pain in his thigh to pass. Once it had receded into a sort of dull, though stabbing throb, he opened his eyes to face her. A crooked smirk in place, his cerulean eyes shining brightly in mischief, he replied:

"What a quick change in temperament," he commented; his voice broke, shaking just enough to reveal that he was still in immense pain. "You must be riding the crimson wave, hm?"

At his callous inquiry, he glared sharply. "To answer your question, no." She sighed — she'd been doing that a lot lately, she noticed — "Now go." She thrust her arm out, pointing with a perfectly manicured nail to his office door.

"Alright, alright… Jeez," he conceded, attempting once more to right himself, this time succeeding. His limp more pronounced than usual as he put as much weight as he could bear on the ailing limb, crossing the room clumsily.

She stepped around him quietly, staying well out of range of his cane, and got the door open, making his exit easier for him. As he passed her, he allowed some of his curiosity to get the best of him and he voiced a single question:

"How's Chase?"

It was spoken quietly, in a voice thick with pain and choked by the presence of words too sincere for his tastes. The words fell like turpentine from his lips, bitter and out of place.

She scoffed, following him out the door and trailing him to the clinic to make sure he arrived there. "Like you actually care," she replied shortly. "Now get to work — there's a patient in exam room one."

Grumbling to himself in annoyance as she turned heel and retreated up the hallway, disappearing around a corner, he berated himself for asking. Cuddy was right, after all: like he actually cared. What was he thinking when he asked that? Had the uncomfortable rest in the computer chair addled his brains?

"What was I thinking, asking that?" he asked himself, almost aghast at the prospect, as he steadied himself carefully against his cane. Almost as though in reply, a dull pain shot up his leg. He shrugged to himself, wincing. "I don't care."

To disrupt his musings, a sharp protest from his thigh spoke out in the form of a vicious dagger of agony. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, rummaging deeply through his jeans' pocket for the small prescription bottle nestled safely within the folds of the fabric.

But you do care about Chase…

He popped the cap off a bit more forcefully than he might have needed to, dumped two little pills shakily into his palm, and quickly downed them, shaking his head roughly, and with it, removing the preposterous thought from his mind.

Don't deny it. Why else would you have asked?

Ridiculous. He shook his head again, more roughly this time, as though he were trying to shake water from his ears. To keep his thoughts from returning to the ridiculous notion, he hastily grabbed the patient file waiting for him off the reception desk and hobbled off to exam room one.

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Crutching stiffly into Exam Room One, leaning heavily on his cane for support, he deadpanned and nearly turned to walk just as stiffly out again.

His newest patient was a young teenage girl, probably about seventeen he guessed. However, from the short length of the hair she could have passed just as well for a male, he noted mentally. A black T-shirt with — Oh, good God, he thought — a goat holding a guitar in front of a star and with — are those wings? What in the hell? — something resembling wings behind it stenciled in white over the word "HYDE" stretched over her figure tightly, like a second skin. A pair of black and green bondage pants, loaded down with a hoard of jangling chain jewelry, hung over her booted feet a good few inches at the hems. To finish the picture, twin pairs of thin, white wires dangled down from he ears, meeting a few inches beneath her chin and tapering into a single string leading into one of her pant pockets.

"Go back to the Hot Topic you crawled out of — their witchdoctors can help you more than I can. You know: they have leeches, bloodletting — all that. Your kind of stuff," he snarked in annoyance, closing the clinic door behind him, automatically knowing he would regret it.

When his comment failed to get a rise out of the girl, he stepped forward heavily, purposely railing his cane against the floor. It made a loud sort of 'thump.'

After a slow moment — a pause so pregnant he began to suspect her of being deaf — the girl finally raised her thick-lashed eyes to him. He glared openly, not so much as attempting to hide his annoyance and distaste. Gradually, the girl reached into one of several pant pockets — that practically swallowed her hand — and pulled out an MP3 player. She toyed innocently with the volume control; it was a good thing, House thought, considering that he could hear the music pulsing from her earphones in arrhythmic waves when he first entered the room.

"I have constant headaches, like migraines, really," the girl said — shouted — bluntly, not bothering to remove the earpieces.

He could still hear the music.

Knowing he would come to regret it, he nodded, being painfully reminded of the tense knot of muscles, stiff and protesting, bunching at the base of his skull. Oh, brother…

"I-I thought that — because you know, I've researched — it might be a tumor. You know, like brain cancer, or something?"

For being so stupid, you deserve it, he thought dully, taking up his hand and running it tiredly over his face. "Well, if you've researched—"

"What?!" the girl shouted; the music had gotten louder.

Annoyance swelled in his chest like a helium balloon; he rapped his cane against the floor impatiently. "I said—"

"Huh? What?"

The balloon popped.

Walking awkwardly, his unique three-stride gait more pronounced than usual, he stepped towards the girl. Extending a hand, he grabbed for the dangling cord of her earphones, gave them a harsh tug, and pulled the earpieces from her ears.

As the earphones spilled into her lap, coiling themselves into a knot of their own wires, she let out an angry screech of protest: "Hey!"

"You're an idiot — for you sake, I hope it's the tumors," he snapped back angrily, his temper bubbling closer to the surface. And, without another word, he turned and crutched out of the room, the door slamming harshly behind him.

---

"House, what has gotten in to you?" an exasperated Cuddy asked him a short hour later, dragging herself into her office angrily after House, slamming the door behind her and motioning stiffly — forcibly — for him to sit.

He ignored her offer to sit, doggedly defending himself in a whining voice. "She was annoying," he insisted, holding his hands before him in mock surrender. "It's not like it's the first time I've—"

"Shut up," she snapped angrily, rounding on him. "It's not an excuse," she sighed, quickly regaining her composure, shaking her head tiredly, loose sepia tendrils of hair swaying with her, framing her sharp, tired face.

Taken aback by her sudden outburst, he was quiet, regarding her almost in quiet awe for a moment. Then, he made to speak again:

"It's not an excuse, huh? Well it never was before now either, so why only call me on it now?" he reasoned bluntly, his voice challenging her. Egging her on.

"Because," she paused, gathering her thoughts in tired agitation. How many times had they had this conversation now, she wondered dully. "You've always been abrasive and rude. Always callous and bitchy."

"So, why should I—"

"House, shut up," she held up a hand to silence him, her voice suddenly clipped, short. Demanding. "You've always been that way — God knows I helped create the monster you've become today — but you've never been this bad."

"Right," he mumbled darkly, glowering at Cuddy's drawn-in frame. "So suddenly, because the whole world is filled with cowards, the one with the spine is being punished. Real vigilante justice at its best there, chief."

"Cowards?" She let out a derisive laugh, dulled with pain and hollowed in weariness. "Cowards," she repeated, facing him full on. Her own startling blue eyes found his and locked into them long and hard. "House, cowardice is the reason one of my employees is wired up on the ICU clinging by bare threads to his life."

"Just because Chase made a poor decision—" House shot back, keeping his eyes steadily on her for any slightest showing of weakness.

But even as he said the words, he knew it was not how she had meant it.

You're the coward… You. You're the reason Chase is in the state he's in. It' your fault…

He shook his head, shaking the heavy thought form his mind. What a load of crap. Like hell it was his fault. Just because Chase was weak, and had decided to pull his little stunt, did not automatically inculpate him. It had nothing to do with him.

"It isn't Chase's fault, House. You know damn well it isn't," she cut in loudly, pulling him back from his reverie and making him aware of that fact that he had lost there little battle of power. He had broken her gaze; looked away altogether.

When had he done that? He couldn't remember...

"Oh, of course it isn't," he groused back, slamming his cane to the carpeted floor, standing up from the couch he had — finally, in the run of their heated exchange — possessed, to make a move towards the door.

She moved between him rigidly, blocking the door. "House," she warned.

"Fine, look." He threw his hands up in surrender, raising his voice a pitch louder than normal. "It's all my fault. I'm the reason he's in the state he's in. It's all my fault!!" He yelled, his voice raising another bar.

His rough tone made her wince, and she hated showing such weakness in front of him, but it couldn't be helped. When she addressed him again, she was careful to keep her voice level:

"I mean it, House."

"Right, of course," he dismissed her reproach almost casually, his voice falling back into it's natural tone almost immediately. "Okay, I feel guilty. You're little guilt-trip-ploy worked, can I go on with the rest of my life now?"

At the mentioning of him feeling guilty, she gave him a quizzical look. A look that read more deeply into him than he would like to admit. But he knew, he sensed, that in that look, she had seen right through him. Seen that we did feel guilty.

I am partially to blame for this…

Suddenly, the door to her office swung open, and Cameron looked in, startled to find both of her superiors together. "Oh," she stammered in surprise. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you were busy." She turned to glance apologetically towards Cuddy.

Cuddy acknowledged the apology and turned to her kindly. "What did you need?" she asked.

"I wanted to know where House was, actually," she admitted, casting the said man a curious expression before redirecting her attention to Cuddy. "I thought he'd like to know: Chase has woken up."

Author's Ramblings: Yeah, so I know it's been literally forever since I've updated this. I know, I know. Bad me. But, I've been really busy with various on-goings in my life. Believe me, I missed writing as much as you missed reading (well, maybe you didn't miss it, but my point remains valid). And yes, I know Chase hasn't woken up yet, like I said he would. But again, because of time constraints, I cut this chapter short too. But, he will be up next chapter, I promise. At least you got my attempt at a clinic patient this go 'round. Right?

I know you've probably forgoten about this story, which wouldn't surprise or offend me in the slightest, seeing as I all but abandoned it forever. But, if you have enough heart to come back it it and pick up where you left off, your opinions would be greatly apprecitated. So, you know the drill, please leave your honest opinions at the door, and happy reading!

Blackrose