Chapter Text
Spending almost every day at a hospital has gotten Lisa Cuddy used to the commotion of paramedics shouting as they rush crying patients from the ambulance to the trauma centre. She doesn’t like having gotten used to it. In all honesty, she despises feeling numb. Usually she tries not to act immune towards the pain of others, but today, she gives into the apathy.
After a long day like today, she simply can’t deal with any more shouting.
As per usual, House had decided to come to her office, loudly complaining about the restrictions on doing dangerous medical tests to help him solve this week’s mystery diagnosis. When Lisa told him no – no coronary angiograms on a patient with a history of allergic reactions to contrast dye – she sent House into a lengthy monologue about his patient and her allergies and- well, Lisa doesn’t even remember his entire monologue anymore, but she does remember House making her feel like an idiot.
She hasn’t gotten much work done since.
Usually she would stay at work a bit longer to finish working her way through the paperwork, but she might as well do that at home, where it’s warmer and quieter.
With a bag filled with files to be looked through and signed, Lisa marches through the hallway. She merely flinches at her spiking headache when paramedics pushing a gurney past her on her way to the exit. Usually she’d watch as the commotion passes her, just like everyone else occupying the entrance hall, but instead she focuses on tossing her scarf over her shoulder so she doesn’t get cold on her way to her car.
She’s almost at the sliding doors when they open for someone on the other side of them. A blond man rushes inside, Lisa recognizes to be one of her own men. “Wilson?” Lisa mutters under her breath; she’s certain she saw Wilson dressing to go home a little before her. She wonders what he’s doing back here so soon. She’s about to ask him, when she notices Wilson’s eyes are glued to the gurney that just passed Lisa.
The expression in his eyes is shocked, to say the least, all color has drained from his face.
Lisa glances behind herself, only to see the paramedics disappearing around a corner.
Her attention is redirected towards Wilson, by the sound of cursing, followed by plastic hitting the tiled hospital floor. Lisa’s head snaps back, her eyes landing on a small orange prescription bottle rolling away from Wilson. She can’t help but notice how it is empty.
Lisa frowns lightly, trying to make sense of her thoughts.
She watches from a distance as Wilson takes his hands up to his face, rubbing his cheeks as he curses again, louder this time. “You stupid-“
“Wilson?” Lisa takes a few steps towards Wilson, putting her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Or at least, make sure he doesn’t punch a wall. “What’s going on?” Lisa glances at the orange bottle and quickly changes her question. “Who does that prescription bottle belong to?”
Wilson answers, and despite being his words being muffled by the hands covering his face, Lisa’s able to make out what he said. “What?” she asks nonetheless, as if her brain hasn’t fully realized what Wilson just implied.
Wilson’s hands drop to his side, his eyes stare at Lisa. He looks lost as he repeats, “They’re House’s pills.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “He-“
“No, he didn’t,” Lisa interrupts him. “He wouldn’t.”
Wilson’s eyes meet Lisa’s, his voice is serious when he tells her, “I’m afraid he did.”
○○○
Cuddy’s eyes stare into James’. Hers are filled with disbelief, as if James would lie about something like this. But to be completely honest, James isn’t sure he would believe Cuddy either if she’d start implying House took an entire bottle of pills. House is addicted to Vicodin, but he’s never taken more than he knows the human body can handle.
And until ten minutes ago, James has been convinced House wouldn’t ever let it go that far.
There had been no signals or signs, either. Sure, House had been complainy all day, mainly about Cuddy, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He regularly visited James’ office, with little to no regard about ongoing appointments with patients. Today was no different.
Hell, despite the complaints, it was almost like House was feeling a bit better than usual. He even asked James if he felt like playing some poker at House’s apartment.
James, being certain it was just another sneaky way for House to get money off of him, decided to turn down the offer. In hindsight, he’d been ignorant to think it was a trick; House’s offer had been a cry for help.
That much had been proven when James passed House’s car on his way home. It was still in the parking lot, despite House having announced his retiral minutes ago; he’s not someone to stick around any longer than needed.
House’s car window had been opened up and music was blasting from inside. James was just going to make a silly comment about how turning the volume up so loud would hurt House’s hearing. In all honesty, James has never been so thankful for their mutual bantering before; if he hadn’t walked up to House’s car to make a sarcastic comment, he would’ve never noticed House’s unconscious body sitting sagged in the driver’s seat. An empty orange bottle of Vicodin laid loosely in House’s hand, his fingernails quickly starting to turn blue. He’d taken too much, that could be concluded from the regurgitation and the rapid but barely noticeable pulse James felt when he took ahold on House’s wrist.
James remembers the feeling of House’s cold and clammy skin underneath his fingers. The shivers the memory sends down his spine call him back to reality. He swallows thickly.
“Now what?” Cuddy asks him. Panic can be read throughout her entire body language. “What state was he in-“ Cuddy’s hands land on James’ shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Is House going to survive?”
“I-“ Something causes a stinging sensation behind James’ eyes. “I don’t know.”
There would’ve been worse places for House to strike a code blue than in the hospital’s parking lot, but he was already far from conscious by the time James found him. Going from the paleness of his skin and blueness of his nails, House had been deprived of oxygen for an unknown length of time, so whether he’d even wake up was a mystery to James.
James isn’t someone to lie about the future; if he doesn’t know what the future holds for House, he isn’t going to lie to Cuddy or himself by convincing the both of them all was good. He just has a single, sort of comforting, fact to hold onto. That fact being, if James hadn’t found him when he did, Gregory House would’ve been dead already.
To be continued…