Gentle Knock - Part 17 by zeppomarx ()

Title: A Gentle Knock at the Door, Part 17
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House (of course - duh), Wilson, Cuddy, Chase and Foreman, and new folks.
Warnings and So On: NC-17 for concepts. H/W friendship (perhaps slash if you wear slash goggles)
Summary: A sequel to Priority's Exigencies, which is a sequel to DIY Sheep's The Contract, which has now spawned an incredible number of offshoots. The short version: House is a physical and emotional mess, having been wrongly imprisoned and tortured and all sorts of nasty stuff. It's about what happens next, and how House deals with it.
Timeline: Set nearly a year after the beginning of Exigencies.
Earlier parts here: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 , 13, 14, 15, 16,
Comments: Be gentle. Flamers begone. Thanks to AW, GM and my medical guru TD, who tells me the medicine is okay, but the procedure is all messed up. Drama trumps medicine, or so I've heard.
Oh, Yeah, the Disclaimer: I certainly don't own House or any of the characters therein, although it would be nice if I did. They belong to David Shore & company. It's just that they waltzed into my head and wouldn't leave until I told their story.

TEASER: The end of a perfect day...

___________________________________________

A Gentle Knock at the Door
Part 17

When he got back to his fifth-floor office, he found the door guarded by a very large FBI agent named Fred.

After inspecting House’s ID, Fred allowed him to enter his own office. With a sigh, House closed the door behind him and collapsed on the couch, sliding his crutches onto the floor as he did. Just as he was started to nod off, the phone near his head rang.

“What?!” he snapped impatiently.

It was FBI agent Roberts, who wanted to give him an update.

“On the phone will be fine,” said House curtly.

“There’s really no news,” Roberts began.

Before he had a chance to go further, House said, “Then why are you wasting my time? Call me when you have some news.” He hung up and closed his eyes.

An hour later, he awoke with a start to hear knocking at the door.

“House, it’s me.” Wilson poked his head in.

House rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Time to go?” he said, hopefully.

“God, yes,” said Wilson. “I can’t wait to get out of here today.”

You and me both, thought House. He checked on Rainie on the way out, leaving word with Mark to have him paged if she woke up in any kind of distress.

* * * *

Wilson invited himself over for the night, and House was too tired to object. They had a couple of roast beef sandwiches and chips in front of the television, with Wilson studiously avoiding bringing up any of the day’s events. This was not the kind of day you wanted to rehash.

At twenty minutes to six, Wilson’s cell phone rang. It was Cuddy.

“Don’t say anything to House,” she said quickly, “but it looks like Channel 2 has another story. Is there any way you can get away to watch it with him knowing?”

“No, not really,” said Wilson, trying not to look at House, who was sitting right next to him watching a Discovery Channel special on dental hygiene. “Nope.”

“Well, then, take your chances and good luck to you both,” she said, hanging up.

“Cuddy?” said House.

“How the hell could you know that?” asked Wilson, startled. After all the years he’d known House, he still couldn’t get used to that uncanny perception.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be so mystical the next time,” said House. In actuality, he’d been able to hear Cuddy’s voice quite clearly through the cell, and knew exactly what he was being shielded from. Great. Just great. As if this day couldn’t get any worse.

To throw Wilson off the track, he asked if Cuddy’s call had anything to do with dozens of FBI agents traipsing all over her hospital. Wilson lied in a straightforward manner and said yes, that Cuddy was wondering if Wilson had talked to any of them since this morning.

At about five till six, House started trying to prepare himself for whatever Channel 2 was going to dish out. He really didn’t want a repeat of Monday’s adventures in regurgitation. He’d actually enjoyed his dinner and he hoped to keep it.

At six, he clumsily grabbed the remote and changed to Channel 2. Wilson stared at him. Whatever possessed the man, tonight of all nights? “What’s the matter with you? Why would you want to watch that tripe?” he said. “Unless you’ve suddenly developed a passion for drunken celebrities.”

Just then, the Channel 2 logo swung into view. After a few seconds of blather, they came to the point. Again, there was House floating in mid-air.

How did he know, wondered Wilson.

“A couple of days ago, we told you we’d bring you further developments on the story of Dr. Gregory House as they became available. Here with an update is Sally Juniper. Sally?”

There she was, outside PPTH, prattling on, recapping the House case and House’s involvement with Rainie’s Adler’s case. Back to you, John.

“I understand there are two new developments in this situation, is that right, Sally?”

“Yes, John. First, Channel 2 has obtained exclusive video of Maureen ‘Rainie’ Adler at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Let’s take a look.”

Both House and Wilson gasped as they saw video of Rainie clearly shot in room 207 in the middle of last night. She was uncovered and shivering, staring terrified at the camera and sobbing. Her badly set bones and bruises were all too apparent.

“As you can see, John, there is no nurse or doctor in the room with Ms. Adler, or any monitoring equipment, which is a major violation of hospital procedure, especially for such a serious case as this. In addition, you’ll note she is both cold and upset, which suggests that she is not getting any kind of proper care. Where are her doctors and nurses? She doesn’t even have a blanket or a pillow. We will continue to investigate this apparent breach at PPTH, and report back when we have more information about the situation.”

House felt himself flushing with anger; he was so livid, he was quite literally seeing red as the blood pulsed behind his eyes and a vein throbbed in his forehead. Where before his heart had been pounding out of fear that Thompson’s vendetta had been reinstated, now it pounded in fury. He looked at Wilson, who had clenched his jaw.

So what was the second development?

As if he’d been listening to House’s thoughts, John said, “Sally, you said there were two developments. What’s the second?”

“As you mentioned earlier, Dr. Gregory House, who himself survived years of torture, has been assigned as the lead physician for Maureen Adler’s case. In our last report, we expressed concerns about his ability to cope with such a stressful situation given his own tragic history.

“Well, we just received a copy of a police report stating that at around three-thirty this morning, Dr. House was cited for disturbing the peace. That’s about the same time this hospital video was shot, which means that Dr. House was not available for his patient—who was clearly in need of his care—because he was involved in an altercation with local authorities.

“What was he doing in the middle of the night, and why wasn’t he watching over his patient? We spoke with one of the police officers involved, and he told us that apparently Dr. House was discovered shouting so loudly in the middle of the night that it woke up his neighbors down the street.

“This is the man who has been entrusted with the care of Maureen Adler. While she’s lying untended and shivering, Dr. House seems to have suffered a nervous breakdown. Again, we express our concerns that he is up to this task. It certainly doesn’t look like it. When we get additional information, we’ll bring it to you. Back to you in the studio.”

Wilson pressed mute, reached out a hand and put it on House’s shoulder. House flinched, shrugging away Wilson’s hand. To say he looked distraught would be a wild understatement. Oh, shit, thought Wilson.

On cue, the phone rang. Wilson put it on speaker.

“Hi, Cuddy.”

“I’ll sue the fucking bastards,” were the first words out of her mouth, followed by, “I’ll have them locked up, and I can guarantee the FBI’s going to have something to say about this.” She was so angry, the only words coming to her mind were of the profane variety.

She waited for a moment, expecting Wilson to say something. Nothing. Then she heard House speaking in a tone of voice she’d never heard him use before.

“How do you want to proceed?” he asked. His quiet voice was calm and cold, but underneath the coldness was a deadly anger. “By airing that film and implying that we’re not capable of taking care of her, they may have compromised Rainie’s care—not even counting the damage they may have done by moving her around in the middle of the night so they could pull off this little stunt.”

Cuddy thought quickly. “We need to fight back and fast. I’m going to call Sam Kostal, our general counsel, right now… and Joe Roberts, to ask if the FBI can intervene. He needs to know anyway. Would you be willing to make a statement, House?”

“I’m willing, but they’ve just ensured that no one will believe me. I’m now the cracked-up doctor who’s disturbing the peace in the middle of the night instead of taking care of his seriously ill patient. My word isn’t going to mean a whole lot here, at least not to the press or the public. I don’t think I’ll be much help to you for PR purposes.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Cuddy firmly. Changing the subject, sort of, she added: “Speaking of, how on earth did you manage to disturb the peace in the middle of the night? Aren’t most people asleep then? Somehow, I can’t see you having a bar fight or blaring your stereo. Maybe in the old days, but not now.”

House didn’t say anything. He looked at Wilson as if to warn him off the subject. Wilson chose to ignore the warning.

“It’s Wilson, Cuddy. He had a nightmare, and his yelling woke up a neighbor.”

She kept her voice deliberately light. “Sorry to hear it, House. That must have been a nuisance for you.”

House said nothing, choosing not to mention the fact that he remembered none of it, or that, at least according to Wilson, he’d screamed for a quarter of an hour. Certainly his throat felt like he had.

“It was an… interesting way to start the day,” said Wilson.

House broke in. His voice no longer sounded cold and angry, but dejected. “But the truth isn’t going to help. Even if the real story comes out, it just makes me look like a flake who can’t handle anything. I should just step down from the case… and I think I ought to resign from the hospital. It’ll be better for you and better for Rainie.”

Damn, thought Cuddy. I was afraid he was going to go there.

“Not a chance, Gregory House. You’re still the best goddamn doctor we’ve got, and you’re the best doctor Rainie Adler could ask for. I will not have her care compromised any further just because these jackals are making a stink. And if you try resigning, you’ll have me to deal with. You’re staying put, and I’ll handle this.”

“I guess the good news is that maybe it’s not Thompson’s people behind what happened,” said Wilson.

Good old Wilson, trying to find the sunny side of life. And he did have a point there. I guess it is a good thing, thought House. I’d rather be angry because of these hyenas than terrified for myself and Rainie. And since I’ve had both of those feelings today, I’m in a good position to compare them. Provided, of course, that Thompson’s people really aren’t involved. He certainly wasn’t willing to commit yet. Thompson had been perfectly capable not only of unspeakable cruelty but also of intricate Machiavellian maneuvers.

“I’m just so sorry this is happening to you,” said Cuddy. “I’d give anything if it could have been avoided.”

“Yes, that would have been my preference, too,” said House flatly, regaining a little of his spirit. “In fact, almost anything would have been my preference compared with today. I’ve had much better days than this.” And then, in a whisper, as almost as a throwaway: “Of course, I’ve had worse, too.”

His last sentence hung in the air.

Cuddy still wasn’t used to a House who would open up the door a crack to his harrowing past. She didn’t know what to say.

House did.

“Well, that brought conversation to a crashing halt. Why don’t we do the same with this phone call? Let me know what Roberts says.” Without waiting for Cuddy to say goodbye, he disconnected.

“Enough,” he said. “I’ve had enough. More than enough.”

“How are you feeling… physically, I mean?”

“Everything hurts,” came the casual reply. “I haven’t had my Vicodin yet and I think there’s definitely morphine in my future.”

Wilson started punching buttons on the phone. “Let me see if Linda can come over and give you a massage. And I’m definitely staying here tonight—I don’t think either one of us wants a rerun of last night.”

After calling Linda, he checked his messages, and grimaced. Frank Parson was in a bad way, and he needed to go to the hospital. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. You okay?”

House nodded. Linda lived only a couple miles away, so she should be here shortly.

About five minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Why doesn’t she just use her key? thought House irritably, heaving himself off the couch, grabbing his crutches and limping toward the door.

“What’s the matter with… y…” the words died in his throat as he saw Alan Pevey glowering in the doorway.

“What’s the matter with me?” Pevey said, viciously. “You’re what’s the matter with me. I got fired. That’s what’s the matter with me. And like the end of my marriage, it’s your fault, you fucking bastard!”

House tried to shut the door on him, but Pevey was too strong. He pushed his way in, slamming the door open and poking his finger at House, who was backing away.

His voice got louder. “You’ve cost me my marriage, my career—everything! I told you you’d better stay out of my way or I’d make you wish you’d never been born. Well, you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, you fucking arrogant son-of-a-bitch!”

House felt the ever-present fear rising in him. He tried to fight it down, but, quite simply, it defeated him. He waited, knowing that tone of voice meant only one thing—pain. He wished he could summon up the anger he’d had just a few minutes ago, but it seemed to have vanished.

Pevey started pushing him. Because House was always unsteady on his crutches, it didn’t take much for Pevey to knock him to the floor. He landed hard on one crutch, and felt something give in his left ankle. The other crutch clattered to the floor. Here it comes, he thought, curling up on his left side on top of the crutch he’d landed on, and trying to protect his head with his arms. Pevey grabbed the other crutch and started battering him with it. House felt some of the old wounds on his arm, back and right side flare up, and he could feel blood starting to trickle down his face.

Make it be a dream, thought House. I can deal with it if it’s a dream.

Pevey kept hitting him with the crutch, aiming now for his tender right thigh. The additional pain was more than he could stand. He screamed out in agony and began to whimper.

“Oh, and you’re a fucking baby, too, aren’t you? Thought you were such hot shit, but you treated everyone around you like crap. And now you can’t take it, can you? How’d you like the news tonight, huh, House? You destroyed my career, you piece of shit. Well, I’m gonna destroy yours.”

Suddenly, House was angry again, mostly because, he realized in an instant, Pevey was taking out his hostility not just on him—who may have deserved it—but also on Rainie, who most certainly did not.

“You moron!” he shouted through the blows, trying to sit up and fight back. “You deserved everything that happened to you. Except maybe the first part—your wife. But everything that’s happened to you since you’ve done to yourself. How dare you jeopardize my patient? Take it out on me, not on her!”

This enraged Pevey further and he began alternating between House’s head and his right thigh. It took only a few whacks before House started to pass out. Pevey kept hitting him with a deranged passion.

The pain was agonizing. As bad as it was on a daily basis, he’d actually forgotten how bad it could actually get. Struggling to stay conscious, he shut his eyes and pretended he’d already passed out, hoping Pevey would let up.

Pevey did let up, but only because something else happened.

House opened his eyes a slit when the beating suddenly stopped. He saw two pairs of feet shod in big boots cross the room followed by a pair of loafers.

“FBI! Put your hands on your head!”

Well. That was an interesting development. Since House’s hands already were over his head, he assumed the statement was meant for Pevey. He opened his eyes the rest of the way to discover he was right.

Pevey was standing next to him, mouth agape, hands on his head—hands that were bloody with House’s spattered blood, now smeared on Pevey’s forehead.

“You’re under arrest!” said the same voice. It sounded sort of familiar. “Get him out of here!” He heard the plastic handcuffs ratchet tight around Pevey’s wrists. The two pairs of boots took Pevey’s sneaker-clad feet away with them. House could hear a faraway voice saying, “You have the right to remain silent…”

Now House saw the pair of loafers come close to him, and then knees came into view.

“Dr. House?” said the sort of familiar voice. “Dr. House, it’s Joe Roberts from the FBI. Are you all right?”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think so. On the other hand, yes.” Definitely better than if Roberts and his men hadn’t shown up when they did.

“I’m calling for an ambulance, okay? You just lie there and I’ll get you some help.”

While he was placing the call, Linda walked in to find House bleeding all over the floor and a strange man on the telephone.

“Dr. House! Are you all right!? What happened here?”

He was starting to lose consciousness, but he struggled to answer. “It’s okay. FBI.” He felt himself slide into nothingness.

Stay tuned to find out what happens next...

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