Physician, Heal Thyself

Ch. 5

Wilson had finished a whole entire morning's work before he realized that it was noon, and House had not come to bother him. He'd seen House's team in the clinic when he dropped by there earlier, so he knew that House didn't have a case. Which meant House should have been bored and avoiding clinic duty by looking for mischief. Yet it had been quiet all morning. Uh oh, he thought. I better go check up on him.

He walks to House's office, all sorts of scenarios playing out in his head. Maybe House was passed out on the floor. Maybe he'd stopped breathing in his chair. One couldn't blame Wilson, certainly, for fearing these things, since they all had happened to House at some point.

But he found House in his chair, doing nothing besides bouncing his ball off the wall and staring absently into space. Jazz was playing in the background.

"House?" Wilson asked. "I thought you solved your case?"

"I slept with her," House said, still staring vacantly ahead.

"What?" Wilson asked carefully. Once burnt, twice shy, he didn't want to invest his hopes again until he was absolutely certain House was sane and telling the truth.

House finally fixed his glance on Wilson. "It's true this time," he said with a rueful little smile. "You can go ask her."

Wilson sat down. "I'm inclined to believe you, since you are drug-free and as mentally stable as it's possible for you to be. B-but—" Wilson spluttered, so many questions coming to mind. "When? How? And why didn't you burst in my office first thing in the morning announcing this and making lewd jokes?"

"Yesterday after work she came to my office asking me to have dinner at her house. I went, we had dinner, and had sex in the middle of The Count of Monte Cristo," House said, in an almost detached voice.

"Oh-kay," Wilson said uncertainly, not sure why House isn't happier about this. "And—you left when she was sleeping?"

"No," House said. "Taub called me at 3 AM about the patient, but she was awake when I left, and I said goodbye to her." The hint of a curious smile tugged on the corner of House's lips.

"Right," Wilson said, more confused than ever. "But now you're having second thoughts?"

"Nope," House said.

"She's having second thoughts?" Wilson thought back to when he'd seen Cuddy this morning. She'd looked very cheerful.

"Nope," House said.

Wilson threw up his hands and gave up. "So what's the matter?"

"Nothing," House said and suddenly stood up. "Let's go for lunch."

--

Cuddy looked up at the clock, and frowned. She'd sort-of expected House to burst into her office this morning to annoy her more than usual. But he hadn't. And she knew that House was at the hospital today, because she'd asked Thirteen. So was he avoiding her? And if so, why? She thought they had left on a very good note.

It was lunchtime, and Cuddy headed for the cafeteria. Maybe she'd catch House and Wilson there.

--

Wilson watched as House bit into his Rubens sandwich. Finally he said, "House."

"Mmm?" House said, chewing noisily.

"Maybe you should go talk to her."

House didn't reply, instead washed his mouthful down with a gulp of soda.

"I don't know," Wilson said. "Call me stupid, but my impression is that it's always a good idea to talk to a girl after sleeping with her. You know, to avoid misunderstandings?"

"Maybe that's why you ended up divorced three times," House said, but without any intention behind his delivery.

Wilson looked up and saw Cuddy coming towards them. "Hey House," he said loudly so she could hear. "I just remembered, I have an appointment with a patient in five minutes. So I gotta go, ok?"

"Wha—" That got House's attention. "They're dying anyways, can't they wait til I finish my lunch?" he yelled at Wilson's fleeing backside. He turned around just as Cuddy plopped into the seat that Wilson's just vacated. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Cuddy said, studying him. His gaze and whole posture had softened the moment he saw her. So it wasn't a problem with their relationship. That was good. Which meant that there was a problem with House himself. That was not so good. "Were you avoiding me this morning?" she asked lightly, but cutting straight to the chase.

"My understanding of the word avoid has always been that it's an active process," House said. "I've just been sitting in my office the whole morning."

"You solved your case," Cuddy said. "You should be doing clinic duty."

"Taub's covered that," House said, waving a hand dismissively.

Cuddy decided to overlook this morally suspect information for now, in favor of something more important. "Right. So what have you been doing in your office all morning?"

"What's with the 20 questions?" House asked, looking annoyed. "God, you sleep with a woman for one night and they suddenly think they have to know every little thing you do."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "First of all," she said, "keep your voice down. The rumor mill in this hospital almost burnt down with excitement after your last little stunt—"

"Not my fault I'm famous," House said.

"Second of all," Cuddy continued, ignoring him, "I happen to be your boss and I have a right to know what I'm paying you to do all day."

"Oh my god," House said, like he just realized something. "If I have sex with you, and you pay me, does that make me your gigolo?"

Cuddy couldn't hold back a smile. "Yeah, I guess so," she said. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all," House said with a devilish smile that almost made her melt, and stood up. "In fact, if you want to find a janitor's closet right now…I'm sure Cameron and Chase will be able to recommend us some good ones—"

She chuckled. "No thanks, House," she stood up as well, and brushed very close to him as she walked past him. "Save it for tonight," she breathed.

And she walked away with an extra sashay in her step, and a smile on her lips knowing he was watching.

--

House was back at his desk in his office, having successfully shaken Wilson and Cuddy off his trail, at least temporarily. He opened the locked drawer of his desk and contemplated the bottle of Vicodin lying inside.

He hadn't taken any—yet. Although he wanted a pill, it was in the same way one would want a candy bar. He didn't need it. After last night with Cuddy, his leg pain had diminished dramatically, confirming his suspicion that it was a mood-related thing.

He'd spent the morning, first trying to figure out why he didn't remember the bottle inside the towel rack bar. He must have hidden it long ago, maybe as early as the period right after the Tritter incident, when he had never wanted to go through something as horrible as withdrawal again.

To be honest, House had randomly hidden so many bottles over the years, half of the time under an intoxicated state, that even he had lost track of his hiding-places. And obviously Wilson and Cuddy had missed it in their sweep. It was amazing already, how they had gotten almost every bottle. One would have to literally taken the apartment apart plank by plank to be that thorough.

The next question was, what are you going to do with it? He knew he should flush it down the toilet. He knew he should tell Cuddy or Wilson. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Hence the reason he'd avoided (well, not actively, but still avoiding) them both all morning.

So many times during his conversation with them, he'd wanted to tell them. But what could he say? "Hey so funniest thing, I found a bottle of Vicodin—get this—hidden inside my towel rack bar this morning! Weird, eh? Guess you missed one! Ha ha!"

First off, it was a little humiliating to admit just to what extent he secreted his drugs, like some sort of a furtive squirrel. Second of all, what if he needed it? So he didn't need it right now. But what if, down the road, the pain got so bad that he couldn't function anymore without it? It wasn't like he was going to be in a good mood 24/7 from now on, even if he was sleeping with Cuddy. The pain was going to come back, full force, and—as big of a coward as he felt—he was afraid of it.

House stared hard at the little orange bottle lying so innocently in his drawer. For a second, House thought he saw it turn into a tube of lipstick. He blinked, and it was gone. He immediately slammed the drawer shut violently, hand shaking slightly.

He stared at the closed drawer for a while. Then grabbing his cane and his iPod, he headed down the elevator to the hospital exercise room.