Next to last chapter. Last one will finish it, including a final Wilson scene and my own final Huddy scene (which still isn't the final scene of the story, and even the last full final scene isn't the last scene, because of course, it ends with a classic House montage). By the end of that chapter, if you go back through the whole story, you'll have a very good idea of the several things I disliked about S6 in general and how, were I David Shore, it would have gone. Well, actually, were I David Shore, it would have gone differently starting back in S5 toward the end, with Thirteen committing suicide, not Kutner (yes, I know there were reasons the actor left. I can still wish Kutner were still around). Thanks for tuning in for this alternate finale, and enjoy the last two chapters!
(H/C)
House sat on the table in Radiology, his shirt off. Chase had just finished taking a set of x-rays.
Cuddy burst through the door like a guilty whirlwind. Her eyes took in the developing bruises and widened. "House . . ."
"I'll go develop those films," Chase offered quickly. "Are the meds helping at all?"
"Yes," House replied. The non-narcotic cocktail of pain medicine and antispasmodics Chase had brought him was doing a better job than ibuprofen, though not up to Vicodin levels.
"Good. Back in a few minutes," Chase stated. He turned, and as he passed Cuddy, he said, "You need to watch that video." He was gone before she could reply.
She walked over to the exam table, taking visual inventory of the deep bruising across his ribs and the smaller whack along his temple, as well as the way his hand was resting on his thigh. She didn't ask if he was okay, knowing he was likely to downplay it anyway, but she'd definitely be here when Chase came back with the x-rays. "I am so sorry, House," she said again.
"Got a notepad?" he asked.
Of course she did. She carried half the world in her purse, as he had once joked. She pulled it out and offered it to him, and he jotted down a web address and then handed it to her. "Chase is right. You need to watch that."
"I believe you - now," she added belatedly.
"Not just for me. You need to watch Lucas, so you'll understand. He's a sociopath, Cuddy. You're better off alone than you are with him."
She stared down at the ring, then ripped it off her finger, almost as if it were hot. "I'll throw his damned ring in his face."
House shook his head. "Sell it. Might as well get something from him."
Cuddy couldn't help chuckling slightly. Such a Housian response. "I might do that." She shook her head. "I can't . . . he's been using me all along, hasn't he?"
"Yes," House replied simply.
"Even proposing to me yesterday; he knew what was happening. He deliberately picked that time to try to contrast against the false image he was painting of you."
"Probably. Not so much a false image, though. If I hadn't been drinking . . ." He trailed off. "I laid myself wide open to it."
"That doesn't excuse him. He took advantage - of you and me both. Tell me about Tritter, House."
Pinpoints of blue fire lit up in his eyes. "Apparently, Tritter never believed in my rehab anyway, anymore than you all did."
"House, I. . ." She started to protest, then stopped. And when exactly this past year had she indicated that she believed in his rehab? He had a point. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Anyway," he continued, "Sam and Lucas both wanted me out of the way. I actually put them in touch unintentionally; I had Lucas investigate Sam. But I never read what he put together. It might have been total fabrication. Since then, he and Sam had been in communication on how to get me out of the picture. You and Wilson both had mentioned the last drug test." Cuddy cringed again, remembering how regularly all year long she had passed along details about House to that snake, who had been just storing them up for any possible use. "They also both knew, from you and also from me, how much I'd been drinking lately. They decided to throw the next test, whenever it was mentioned to either of them, and both you and Wilson brought it up. Meanwhile, Lucas brought Tritter into the loop, since he knew Tritter held a grudge and might be an easy source of confiscated Vicodin. Tritter was only too glad to play along. In fact, his one condition was that he give the pills to me myself. So two nights ago, I came back from Nolan, drank at home, went out to a bar, and came home plastered. They were trailing me, which I was too drunk to notice." Self-annoyance dripped off his tone. "Once I got home and passed out, Lucas came in first to be sure the coast was clear. If I'd woken up, he could have had some story about checking on me. He called Tritter in once he was sure I was passed out, Tritter gave me the Vicodin, and then Lucas called Sam, who was waiting for a report." He sighed. "I walked straight into it."
"So did I," she said. "House, I am so sorry. I should have at least listened to you."
"You did at first," he reminded her.
"Until I talked with Nolan. What exactly happened with Nolan?"
"He went all Wilson on me. Overanalyze every statement without listening to what I was saying at all. Maybe he'd had a bad day; he's usually not quite that bad. Not saying that I'm a saint to deal with in a session, and I have been slipping lately with the drinking, but he was over the top in that one. He even at one point pulled out a magazine, said he had no reason even to listen to me, and then said he was still charging me for the time while he sat there reading."
Cuddy flinched. "That's pretty unprofessional."
"Yes. So there you have something he didn't tell you, to go with me not telling you about walking out. I'm not the only one in the world who withholds data."
"I'm sorry, House," she said again. "I was too quick to switch off and judge you. I wish . . . you'd keep seeing someone, but I understand if you don't want it to be him."
"I will," he agreed instantly, surprising her. "I'll find some other psychiatrist and keep going to sessions. Lord knows I need it; I'm the most screwed-up person in the world."
"I'm starting to think you've got some good competition for that title," she replied. "Between me and Wilson, it would be a tight race."
He chuckled and then flinched, and she felt guilty all over again. Just then, Chase came back into the room, holding x-ray films. He walked over to the wall box and put the films up. "Three cracked ribs on the left. You'll be pretty sore, but they don't look bad enough to worry about a pneumothorax. And no concussion. Just assorted bruises and bangs, really."
"So like I said, I'm fine," House emphasized. He picked up his shirt and immediately got into a struggle with putting it on.
Cuddy rolled her eyes and reached over to assist him, carefully keeping all sympathy out of her voice. "Right. You're perfectly fine. I'll let you off clinic duty for a little while, at least, to minimize time moving around and on your feet."
House looked directly at her. "So I'm not going to lose my license?" he asked. He knew, but he wanted first-hand confirmation.
"No," she said softly.
"I'll drive you back home if you want," Chase offered. "You need to get some rest."
"I'll drive him," Cuddy said, but House shook his head.
"No, Chase will drive me. I want you to watch that video. Like I said, you need to see Lucas as he is. He'll tell you more there than I ever could."
"Okay," she yielded. "I'll go to my office and watch the video."
"And email the site to Wilson," House requested. "He needs to see it, too."
"I will," she replied. "Get some rest, House. I'll see you later."
He nodded shortly and then stiffly slid down off the table and limped for the door, Chase following him. Cuddy looked at the ring she still held in her hand, then dropped it into her purse. She was surprised how little mourning she felt over the relationship with Lucas. Maybe there never had really been a relationship there to mourn. No, all of her regret was in what she, not just Lucas but she, had put House through.
(H/C)
House limped slowly into his apartment, feeling like he had aged 100 years in the past day. "Do you want me to stay?" Chase offered.
House shook his head. "Go home. You've been up all night, too." It was nearly 4:30 a.m. by now.
"Okay. I'll see you later, House."
House turned back to face him. "Thanks," he said again.
Chase grinned at him. "Tritter was wrong, you know. You have more friends than you think you do, and there are still people who believe in you." He turned without waiting for a reply and left the apartment.
House locked the door and limped slowly down the hall to the bedroom. Not taking time to undress, he collapsed on top of the covers, too tired to stay awake any longer, too tired even to keep thinking. Part of his mind went to Cuddy and Wilson, watching the video, seeing the naked truth. But it was better that they saw the naked truth now than after their weddings. Before he could move on from that thought, he was sound asleep.
(H/C)
It was nearly noon when Sam stalked out of the police station, thoroughly annoyed. Wilson stood on the steps outside, waiting. "Thanks for bailing me out - finally," she said, wishing he'd done it a few hours earlier.
"You're welcome," he replied automatically, but his hands were on his hips. She sighed.
"You want to know why, don't you?"
Wilson burst into speech like the floodgates opening on a dam. "Yes, damn it. How could you take part in something like that? He could have lost his job, gone back to Mayfield. He could have actually started hallucinating again. You tried to destroy him."
"We all know he would have relapsed eventually," she countered. "I just didn't see any point in letting him ruin our relationship in the meantime."
"He wasn't even in our relationship," Wilson protested. "I'd asked him to move out. I was spending time with you. I was doing everything right. Why did you think you had to get rid of him?"
"I've been talking to Bonnie and Julie," Sam stated. "You can find almost anyone on Facebook. We got to talking, when I started seeing you, about what they thought would improve the odds this time. Both of them gave me the same answer - get totally rid of House. He was always underfoot, always in the way, always needing something. He takes too much of your attention. Don't misunderstand; I'm not saying it's sexual, and they weren't either, but he's like a leech that drains all the time and energy off you. You don't have room for a friend like that and for a wife. He has no other friends; everything has to come to you. And with him mentally unstable now. . . "
Wilson cringed, hearing the echo of Tritter and Lucas from the video, that House was totally friendless. And he heard Chase's voice saying, "You're wrong." But he was forced to admit that Sam and Lucas had gotten that idea from himself and Cuddy, as well as the idea that relapse was inevitable. Had he really been that unsupportive and run down his friend that much to others? "He's not just a leech," he protested. "He's a better friend at times than I've been to him."
Sam shook her head. "You pegged him yourself. You called him a nightmare. Doesn't sound like a good friend to me."
"No," Wilson replied, remembering making that statement. "That doesn't sound like a good friend." He was referring to himself.
"Can we get off these steps and go home?" she asked. "Jail isn't the most comfortable place to spend the night."
He stared at her. "You really think after all that that I'd go on with you?"
She tried to move in closer, and he pulled stiffly away. "Maybe I went too far, but I just wanted us to have a chance to be happy," she said. "I did it for us. So I guess House has ruined another relationship after all."
Wilson shook his head. "House didn't ruin my previous marriages; I did that, with some help from the three of you. But House sure didn't ruin our second chance. You did that all on your own." He stepped away. "I'll be gone for the rest of the afternoon. When I get home, I'll expect your things to be moved out. Goodbye, Sam." He turned and left, leaving her standing on the steps of the police station, staring after him.