"Overcoming the Pain" (M for drug use), my first story

[HouseFan43ver]

This is my first House fic I've ever written. Any comments are welcome Thanks for reading!

ch 1

Ch 1

House sat at the bar, sipping a glass of Jack Daniels, he’d been there for a few hours and he wasn’t in a very cheery mood, but then again he never was a cheery kind of person. House picked up his drink and finished it off. He then poured himself another drink from the bottle that was sitting next to the glass. He sighed and felt the alcohol burn his throat as it went down. House was pissed off at himself because he and the team had lost a patient today and he blamed himself for it. ‘If only I’d been able to figure out what was wrong! I could’ve saved ’em! Dammit!’ He slammed the drink down his throat again.
House had been there for a few hours, he drove here after work on his bike. He pulled out his wallet and placed a few bills on the bar table. He winced as he felt pain shoot up his leg. He absentmindedly reached for the bottle of Vicodin in his shirt pocket opened the bottle, palmed two, and dry swallowed them. He used his cane to get up from the bar stool and he swayed a bit as the alcohol and pills affected his body. He held onto the bar stool a few minutes until the swaying had subsided. A few moments later he hobbled his way outside and noticed it was raining, not hard but a light rain.
He swung his bad leg over the bike grimacing, he then positioned his cane in place and made sure it was secure. House then started the bike up and started on home to his apartment. Driving home, he wobbled and served as the alcohol, pills and rain added to his already horrible day. He soon comes up to his apartment garage, where the road met the pavement. Unknowingly to House, the speed at which he was going, the pills and alcohol in his system and the rain created a hazard for him as he served to avoid a cat that had wondered out in front of him and he hit a pot hole and was catapulted off his bike and onto the hard cement below.
Upon impact, he slammed his head hard into the pavement, allowing blood to come forth from the head wound. He scraped up his hands and knees. He was in a daze and pain from his head, hands, and feet and especially from his leg was the only thing he felt. Somehow he managed to get out the bottle of Vicodin, pop off the top and dry swallow three pills. He managed to get out his cell phone, and push the button the dial Wilson’s number. He then laid his head down on the pavement and let them do their magic as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD
Wilson was sitting in his office, catching up on paper work when his cell phone went off. He grabbed it and saw that it said “House”. He flipped it open and began to talk, when Wilson didn’t hear anyone responding. He knew that House would never not talk to him. The oncologist began to get worried. He quickly gathered his things and left the office, driving his car over the House’ apartment. Wilson drove his car into the apartment garage and noticed that House’ bike wasn’t in its usual place. As he shut off his car, got out and looked around he was shocked to see his best friend lying on the ground, bloody, unconscious and reeking of alcohol. Wilson got out his phone, dialed the number for PPTH and waited for the ambulance to arrive. He then sat there and comforted his friend the best he could.

[HouseFan43ver]

ch 2

House opened his eyes and the first thing that registered in his was brain was pain. Pain in his head, hands and feet and especially his leg. The man with the steel blue eyes quickly shut them and fought off a wave of nausea that had overtaken him. The doctor opened his eyes and saw Wilson sitting in a chair next to his bed, sleeping.
“Hey Wilson” House whispered, just audible enough for the oncologist to hear. Wilson’s eyes snapped open and he smiled at his best friend. He got up and walked over to his bed, smiling at him. Wilson then said “How are you feeling House?” “Like I fell off a bike” the older man replied sarcastically. Wilson just grinned and told House the extent of his injuries. “You suffered a nasty concussion, cuts to your hands and feet, and we’re all worried about you House. I know you feel responsible for the death of that patient but you and your team did all you could…”
House just tuned him out as he lay there in his bed looking up at the ceiling. Wilson finally stopped talked and looked at him and saw he was staring at the ceiling. Wilson also knew that House was beating himself up because he felt guilty for the death of that patient. He turned and left the room and left House to his thoughts.
The older man lay in his bed thinking ‘What did I do wrong that I couldn’t save that patient?’ He sighed and pushed the button for the morphine drip as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Wilson, Cuddy, Chase, Foreman, and Cameron all stood outside his room looking in on their friend and colleague laying there in the bed.
Cuddy was the first to speak “I know you are all concerned about House as am I. We all know he’s taking the death of this patient upon himself. We need to help him.” They all nodded in agreement. Little did they know that their friend had been on a self-destructive path for quite some time. The recent death of this patient just pushed House over the edge.

[HouseFan43ver]

ch 3

Note: these next two chapters are very dark.
It was past 5 p.m. as James Wilson sat in his office. He should have gone home hours ago, but he couldn’t. He was too damn worried about his best friend House. Wilson sat at his desk, paperwork strewed about. The oncologist had started to work on some of it, when he got sidetracked and he let his mind wander. ‘Paper work is the last thing I want to do. What possessed House to go and do something as stupid as drinking, popping his Vicodin and getting into this accident? Was it intentional? Was it really just an accident?’

Sighing, Wilson collected all the paperwork and put it away in the appropriate files. After doing this, he walked over to his office door, locking it and walked back to his desk. Wilson loosened his tie and uncuffed his button down shirt, then he sat in his chair sighing once more and he let his mind drift back, thinking maybe Wilson could think of why else House was acting the way he was.

Flashback
Greg House sat in his office chair, his right leg, the horrible mangled leg-the essence of his pain, misery and the site of the infarction was stretched out straight before him. His left leg hugged the contours of his desk chair as he sat in it. House’ office was lit only by the desk lamp beside him, the blinds in his office were drawn so that no one could look in, his office door was locked, it was past 5 p.m. House knew that everyone had left for the day. House sat in his office chair, his mouth was dry and his skin was warm, both symptoms of someone who used heroin.
His heart pounded in his chest as House un-cuffed his dress shirt, rolling up his shirt sleeve past his elbow. The doctor turned addict looked at his arm, there on his arm were several yellow-purple and black colored bruises, injection sites. With shaky hands, the blue eyed doctor opened up his blue nylon backpack. After unzipping the nylon bag, he reached in and grabbed the plastic bag. In this bag, were a few hypodermic needles, a metal spoon, a lighter, a tourniquet, and a bag of white powder. He took out the materials and he wrapped the tourniquet around his arm, above his elbow wincing slightly as it tightened. The blue eyed doctor took out the spoon, opened the bag and placed some of the powder on the spoon. With his hands, he lit the bottom of the spoon and waited until the substance had turned into a liquid form. Greg House then took the liquid substance, and poured it into the hypodermic needle. With careful precision, he slid the needle into his arm and pushed down on the plunger, feeling the drug enter his system. He sighed and let the drug take affect.
After the initial rush of the drug wore off, h, then removed the needle from his arm, capped it and removed the tourniquet from his upper arm. He placed all of the items away in the plastic bag, then placed this in the duffel bag and zipped it closed. By this time his arms and legs had begun to feel heavy and he felt himself “going on the nods”-where he would nod his head in a drowsy but wakeful state of mind. The diagnostician laid his head on his desk and was soon feeling the full effects on the injected heroin into his body.
Just as he was closing his eyes, he heard a knock on his office door. His mind, still fuzzy from the drugs took a few second to process this action. House knew that it was Wilson-his one and only friend, his best friend, knocking on the door to see what was up and why he was still in his office. The tall lanky man slowly got up from his desk, buttoned up his dress shirt and put in his sport jacket before coming to the door. Using his cane, he hobbled toward the door. Unlocking and opening it, the older man winced slightly at the light that penetrated his office. His best friend Wilson stood there before him looking confused. Wilson had never seen House like his, his hair was messed up, like he had just woken up, his eyes sunken with dark circles beneath them. Wilson had failed to notice the bruising on House’ arm nor the glassy eyed look that his friend had.
Wilson was the first to speak, he could tell that House was getting annoyed with him standing there not saying anything. “House, what are you doing here so late and why is your office all dark?” House replied “I’m taking a nap, what the hell does it look like I’m doing? Having sex with an imaginary hooker? Don’t think so! Now leave so we can get back to doing it.” He replied snarkily as he pushed his friend outside of the office. As Wilson bid House goodnight, all he could hear was the door being locked and House shuffling back toward his desk. Wilson just thought that House was tired and needed sleep, after all House and his team had been working hard as of late and Wilson knew that it was taking his toll on him.

Wilson was jolted from his dream-like state as he heard knocking coming from his door and someone calling his name, it was the cleaning personnel. He gathered his thoughts and his jacket and everything else and proceeded to open the door, apologizing and saying he had been day dreaming. The worried man left his office and headed straight for House’ hospital room, where he opened the door and let himself in and he took a seat in the uncomfortable chair and watched his friend. Wilson closed his eyes and soon his mind was drifting back to the same thought before.

[HouseFan43ver]

ch 4

Wilson sat in his car, with the lights off, waiting for House to leave. Wilson suspected that something was wrong with House-not that he was just tired from the long, hard hours he and his Ducklings had put in. The oncologist didn’t have to wait very long for House to come out. He sighed and sat there and waited.

Back in his office:
House gingerly sat down at his desk, his mind still reeling from the drugs and the talk with Wilson. Slowly, after several minutes of just sitting, the doctor gathered up his cane, motorcycle jacket, backpack and opened the door to his office. The diagnostician winced at the bright lights that lit the hall way and he made his way down it, and outside to the parking lot. House shuffled on over to his bike, he first swung his right leg over the bike and grimaced as pain shot up it. The drugged out man sat comfortably as he could, with his cane securely fastened to the bike, he started it up and quickly drove home to his apartment. Wilson followed House home and what he saw when he got there shocked him. The lean-framed brown haired oncologist, hid beneath the bushes near House’ front door and peered inward. Wilson wasn’t the kind of person to sneak around his friends’ back but if House knew what he was doing, he’d kick his butt for sure.
When House got there, and had put the bike in its HANDICAP parking space, he somehow managed to make it up to his apartment, unlock the door, open it and stumble in. The self-absorbed man managed to take off his leather jacket, sport jacket and hobble into the kitchen where he got a few beers. As he closed his refrigerator door, his right leg hit it and pain like fire shot up his leg and made him gasp and curse loudly. He opened a bottle of beer, setting it on the countertop, then he reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed his bottle of Vicodin, which he opened and poured out two white pills. Putting the cap back on the bottle and then putting the bottle in his pocket, the lanky thin man popped the two pills in his mouth which he chased down with a swig of his beer.
After drinking the beer and taking the Vicodon, House holding the few beer bottles, shuffled on into his bedroom where he slid the backpack from his shoulders, as he sat down on his bed. He tossed his cane next to him on his bed. The cloudy eyed drugged out man, unzipped his blue backpack and retrieved the plastic bag from inside. Opening up the plastic bag, he gathered up its contents and smiled wryly. As they lay before him on his bed, he took a drink from his beer bottle. He could feel himself nodding off again-because of the heroin in his body. He took another long drink of his beer and set it down on the nightstand. Using the materials that were laid out on his bed, he was soon high not only from the heroin, but from the Vicodin and drunk from the two or three bottles of beer he had drank. House soon passed out on his bed, the needle still in his arm, empty beer bottles strewn around his bedroom and a look of sadness, despair and loneliness in his eyes as they slowly shut and the man fell into a drug induced sleep.
The brown haired man, sat shocked at his best friend’s body as it lay across the bed. James Wilson tried to rationalize House’ actions in his mind, to try and convince himself that House was suffering from a too much hard work. After several minutes of trying to convince himself of this fact, he sighed and came to the only logical conclusion he could: Greg House was a heroin addict.

Wilson was awaken by Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. After opening his eyes, Wilson looked up at Cuddy, who looked as equally worried and tired as he did. They both looked at House who was still out cold from the morphine drip he had been given for the pain from the accident. The tired man stood up, grimaced at how his body had uncomfortably become accustom to the hard wooden hospital chairs. Cuddy handed Wilson a cup of coffee as she smiled a weak smile at him. He took a sip and then looked at her, giving her a forced smile. He then whispered “Cuddy, we need to talk, I know what’s wrong with Greg”
Lisa Cuddy knew that Wilson only used House’ first name when something very bad was going on. She motioned him to follow her out of the room, where they went to her office. After several minutes of silence, Wilson told Cuddy about the flashback/dream that he had had in his office earlier that night. Lisa Cuddy came to the same realization as Wilson had that Greg House was a heroin addict. She began to cry as Wilson got up from his chair, walked over and gave her a hug and let her cry on his shoulder.

ch 5 to follow...

[axelchick]

This was very well written you have me mesmorized! ca't wait for more!!

[HouseFan43ver]

thanks for the review, I apprecaite it! Ch 5 is something I just began and am still looking on where it will go..hope that makes sense..

God and peace
Vanessa

[HouseFan43ver]

here's chapter 5, so sorry for the long delay..life and school have been keeping me busy.

comments welcome please

My muse decided to wakw me at 3am and make me think about this and it kept me up with my cold..oh well.

God and peace
Vanessa

Chapter 5
Meanwhile back in House’ room:
House was going thru heroin withdrawal, it had only been about 5 hours since his last injection, but in that time, the pain from his motorcycle accident had intensified, along with the pain in his bad right leg. He was sweating profusely from the withdrawal symptoms. Sweat poured off him, his graying hair matted to his forehead, he winced as the sweat stung his eyes and he quickly wiped it away. The hospital gown he was wearing stuck to his skin, like how you would feel in a sauna with a t-shirt on. His leg hurt with a vengeance now, his body tensed up as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position ‘If that’s even possible.’ thought House.
He laid himself done in a not as painful position and continued to feel his body hurt immensely because of the heroin withdrawal and motorcycle accident pain. His body was shaking, like he was having a seizure and in a sense he was. The sick man felt himself starting to have the urge to heave. Quickly, but what seemed like forever, he pushed the call button and a nurse came in. “Hand me the damn trashcan!” he yelled. The nurse, terrified of House, quickly scooped up the trashcan from the floor and handed it to him. The scared nurse, almost in tears asked “Do you need anything else Dr. House?” House whose head was practically in the trashcan, was heaving the contents of his stomach said nothing. When the sick man pulled his head out of the trashcan, and wiped his mouth with the hospital down, he yelled at her “What kind of nurse are you to watch a man puke his head off into a trashcan? I don’t need anything! Now get out and close the blinds before you leave!” he roared at her. The young scared nurse, quickly ran out the room but before she did, she closed the window blinds like he had asked, then she shut the door and left the sick man to lie on his bed.
House laid his head down on the uncomfortable hospital pillow and sighed. His body was still slick with sweat, his head hurt from yelling and his chest and stomach hurt from the little food he had in it that was now in the trashcan. The pale skinned man placed the smelly, small trashcan just in reach of his body and he reached up to where the morphine drip was and turned it up some more. His blue eyes were now dulled with the pain medication soon closed and succumbed to sleep Little did he know, that his two closest friends and comrades were watching his sleep.
As their friend lay sleeping in morphine induced sleep, Cuddy and Wilson watched sadly that even in sleep House couldn’t find peace from the pain that always plagued him-the pain from his addiction and his leg. They both knew that House was addicted to the Vicodin and now heroin and if they weren’t careful, soon he’d be addicted to the morphine.
Wilson was the first to speak “Cuddy, if we don’t do something soon House is going to kill himself. We need to help him and we both know that deep down inside House wants help too but he’s his stubborn, snarky, smart ass self that prevents him from asking for it.”
Through the tears, Cuddy answered “Wilson, I know you’re right. We have to help him. But let’s take this one step at a time. First we need to make sure he gets healed from his motorcycle accident injuries and in the process we’ll wean him off the morphine. I think we also need to let his ducklings know.”
They agreed and assured the other one that they’d go home, shower, eat and change and meet back at the hospital at 10 in the morning, after all it was almost midnight and they were both very tired. They bid each other good night and were soon off to their respective homes.

[axelchick]

That was great. Nice job!

[cakemixo]

Sweet. This story as a whole reminds me of Nicholas Meyer's "The Seven Precent Solution". I love this parallel . I wish House the same success as Sherlock Holmes on kicking his drug habits.

[Catlady]

I too like the story and am definitely invested in it.

I will just say that your writing would improve with either a bit more proofreading or a good beta, or both (I'm notoriously shy about asking for beta reader so I wont' push too hard).

Just a few things to watch out for the can reflect negatively on you: be sure when you write something formal be it fiction or non that you write words out. I noticed you wrote thru instead of through. Nothing wrong with that in e-mails, informal notes, or stuff like that, but doing it in a fic. or, worse, a document for school or work makes you look as if you didn't put enough time into it. Clearly you've worked on this, so don't sell yourself short by making careless mistakes.

Also look out for sentence agreement, still I fear after all these years a problem I have regularly. What I mean is for instance you have this sentence:

The hospital gown he was wearing stuck to his skin, like how you would feel in a sauna with a t-shirt on.

You start out writing about House (aka He) and finish talking about you. It would look better if you wrote it like this:

The hospital gown he was wearing stuck to his skin as if he were in a sauna with a T-shirt on.

or

The hospital gown he was wearing stuck to his skin. House felt as if he were in a sauna wearing a T-shirt.

The primary thing is you want to keep using the same pronoun you started with. Again, a nitpick, but something that makes your writing look more polished.

I hope you don't mind the hints. Like I said I like the story and definitely want to see what's going to happen next. I just thought a few technical tips might help you out in getting a good reception for this fic here and elsewhere.

Keep up the good work, I'm a sucker for the "hurting House" fics.

[HouseFan43ver]

To be honest, English was never a strong point of mine but I think I've gotten better at since I've been in college. (my major requires quite a bit of writing papers)

Thanks for the hints, I do apprecaite it. I don't usually proof read my work, I should start that though

I'm glad that ya'll are liking it, I hope to have chapter 6 up soon (maybe by this weekend if I'm not too busy)

God and peace
Vanessa

[tpel1]

Great angst -- intense and well described! We've seen, on the show, that House is not averse to trying mind-altering substances beyond his usual Vicodin, so it is interesting to see what happens when this gets out of control. I like how you have Wilson and Cuddy in his corner, trying to figure out how to help.

One thing I found unconvincing: House's motivation. You have House and Wilson acknowledge, repeatedly, that guilt over losing a patient prompted House's downward spiral. While I grant that this may be part of what set him off, I doubt that he would admit that to himself so easily, and I don't think it would be the first thing that pops to Wilson's mind. Of course, maybe I'm a bit more cynical about House than you are :-)

[HouseFan43ver]

tpel1-thanks for the comments and suggestions. to answer you, I think what motivates House to do the heroin is that the Vicodin and morphine aren't working anymore and he needs something stronger. He's doing it because he wants to numb the pain in his mind and head and he found that heroin's the answer. Hope this helps

God and peace
Vanessa