menolly_au (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
menolly_au) wrote2012-07-06 06:43 am
menolly_au) wrote2012-07-06 06:43 am
Entry tags:
Fic : Thirty Days of Solitary - 10/30
Title: Thirty Days of Solitary 10/30
Characters: House with small bits of various others
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: For everything up to and including Twenty Vicodins
Summary: House was sentenced to thirty days of solitary confinement for his actions in Twenty Vicodins. This is the story of his time in solitary, and what was happening back at PPTH while he was there. Story will mainly focus on House, but there are segments featuring the rest of the cast. Starts just before the end of Twenty Vicodins.
A/N : Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
damigella_314. Without her constant help and encouragement this story would be called 'Five Days of Solitary'.
Click for previous part
Day 10 Sunday 16th October 2011
He decides that he can't just keep lying around all day doing not much of anything; he’s going to go insane doing that. So he takes up the pen and pad of paper and makes a start on that textbook of Diagnostics that Cuddy had always been on his case about. Share the knowledge she would say, and he'd asked her what she thought he was doing with those three idiot fellows she'd foisted on him. He'd suggested that less clinic hours would lead to more textbook writing but she had never been persuaded to that line of thought. She seemed to think that less clinic hours would lead to more video games and sleeping on work time, he had to concede she was probably right.
He's tried over the years to educate his fellows as best he can, to pass on techniques they can use, approaches they can take, to give them the courage to go out on a limb and do what needs to be done, but that spark, that moment of inspiration, that epiphany, that can't be taught. Chase has shown moments of brilliance, but only moments. The rest are workmanlike, above average doctors but they still have a long way to go before they can independently operate a department such as his. There are no other departments like his that he knows of, Foreman had tried to run one, but he had been lacking a boss who was inclined to tolerate a certain amount of risk taking and rule bending. House knows that he has been fortunate to have Cuddy on his side what it came to the exercise of his particular ‘gift’.
So he’s never been convinced that writing a diagnostics textbook would be a worthwhile endeavour but it's not like he has anything else pressing to do. His physics books haven't turned up yet, despite his complaints every other day to the prison guards (or maybe because of them, he's not sure, maybe he should shut up about it for a while).
He heads up the first page, 'Everybody Lies'. The first principle of diagnostics, he thinks, never trust, and never believe anything but cold hard lab results. And don't believe old labs, get new ones, get new scans, do it yourself. Other people make mistakes, they miss things, and they’re blinded by their specialties. He's never been able to get his fellows, or Wilson, to fully accept the 'everybody lies' philosophy of life that is so essential to his work. They think he’s got some warped view of human nature, he knows that he sees the truth.
He starts sketching out a basic outline, with snappy chapter titles. Don't leave all the fun to the coroner , Treat, and then test, Sometimes people die, Do the math . He doodles a bit on the page, drawing some random porn in each corner. This would be so much easier to do on a computer, with a nice internet connection. The trouble with prison is that there are so few distractions. It had been bad enough in gen pop; in solitary it is much worse. Apart from three meals a day, meds, exercise once a day and, on the really exciting days, a shower, there is nothing to interrupt the steady monotony of the days. There is nothing to get between him and his thoughts.
He stares at the paper again, decides it's a good start and puts it to one side. He doesn't know why he should write a book on diagnostics anyway, he's finished with that, he's going to study dark matter, and remove himself from humanity. He doesn't want to be a doctor any more. A couple of weeks ago he was sure of that. Has saving one guy's life changed his mind? Diagnosing Nick has brought him nothing but being locked in a room barely bigger than his bathroom and another eight months of purgatory. His gift has never brought him more than transitory happiness.
He wonders if anyone on the outside will notice when he doesn't come out of the prison door in two months time, on his original release date. Was anyone planning to be there for him? He's had no contact with any of them since it happened, maybe they don't even know he's here, let alone when he’s due out. He hopes his Mom doesn't know anyway, it would be just one more disappointment in her life full of them. At least his Dad isn't around to see all his prophecies for House's life come true. He wonders what his biological dad, a devout minister, would make of this, what he would make of a son being in jail for a violent act committed against a woman. He knows what John House would have made of it, he'd always stressed to Greg that violence against women was not okay; violence against small children in the name of discipline was apparently fine in his eyes.
He picks up the paper again, seeking to distract himself from his memories of the past, but the words are blurred and he finds it hard to focus on them. He puts it down again and stares at the ceiling. He wants to not think, he wants to just turn off. He wants the day to finish so it can be another day gone.
He wants someone to talk to.
Blythe wakes up early, as she often does. Thomas is a later riser so she leaves him to it and goes down into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. As the coffee brews she draws her gown around her tightly against the cool morning air. She glances around the kitchen, at the small table and for one moment she imagines a young Greg sitting there, his face screwed up in concentration as he reads a book and eats his breakfast. She shakes her head, banishing the image. She knows why she's thinking about him. Last night there had been one of those silly reality shows on the television, it had been about a prison, and the lives of the prisoners. She'd seen only five minutes before she'd turned it off, horrified at the idea of her beautiful son in a place like that.
She has thought about visiting him, many times. Once she'd gotten as far as looking up the prison regulations for visitors. Then she remembered that Greg had never liked her hovering over him, or her seeing him when he was in trouble. He'd always run and hidden after John had disciplined him, never seeking his mother's comfort. He hadn't called her during the infarction, or after he'd been shot, and she hadn't known about Mayfield until months later.
No, she won't embarrass him by going to see him in prison, he wouldn't want that. She pours out her cup of coffee and takes it back to the bedroom to drink while she reads; a nice romance book to take her mind off things until Thomas wakes up.
Characters: House with small bits of various others
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: For everything up to and including Twenty Vicodins
Summary: House was sentenced to thirty days of solitary confinement for his actions in Twenty Vicodins. This is the story of his time in solitary, and what was happening back at PPTH while he was there. Story will mainly focus on House, but there are segments featuring the rest of the cast. Starts just before the end of Twenty Vicodins.
A/N : Many, many thanks to
damigella_314. Without her constant help and encouragement this story would be called 'Five Days of Solitary'. Click for previous part
Day 10 Sunday 16th October 2011
He decides that he can't just keep lying around all day doing not much of anything; he’s going to go insane doing that. So he takes up the pen and pad of paper and makes a start on that textbook of Diagnostics that Cuddy had always been on his case about. Share the knowledge she would say, and he'd asked her what she thought he was doing with those three idiot fellows she'd foisted on him. He'd suggested that less clinic hours would lead to more textbook writing but she had never been persuaded to that line of thought. She seemed to think that less clinic hours would lead to more video games and sleeping on work time, he had to concede she was probably right.
He's tried over the years to educate his fellows as best he can, to pass on techniques they can use, approaches they can take, to give them the courage to go out on a limb and do what needs to be done, but that spark, that moment of inspiration, that epiphany, that can't be taught. Chase has shown moments of brilliance, but only moments. The rest are workmanlike, above average doctors but they still have a long way to go before they can independently operate a department such as his. There are no other departments like his that he knows of, Foreman had tried to run one, but he had been lacking a boss who was inclined to tolerate a certain amount of risk taking and rule bending. House knows that he has been fortunate to have Cuddy on his side what it came to the exercise of his particular ‘gift’.
So he’s never been convinced that writing a diagnostics textbook would be a worthwhile endeavour but it's not like he has anything else pressing to do. His physics books haven't turned up yet, despite his complaints every other day to the prison guards (or maybe because of them, he's not sure, maybe he should shut up about it for a while).
He heads up the first page, 'Everybody Lies'. The first principle of diagnostics, he thinks, never trust, and never believe anything but cold hard lab results. And don't believe old labs, get new ones, get new scans, do it yourself. Other people make mistakes, they miss things, and they’re blinded by their specialties. He's never been able to get his fellows, or Wilson, to fully accept the 'everybody lies' philosophy of life that is so essential to his work. They think he’s got some warped view of human nature, he knows that he sees the truth.
He starts sketching out a basic outline, with snappy chapter titles. Don't leave all the fun to the coroner , Treat, and then test, Sometimes people die, Do the math . He doodles a bit on the page, drawing some random porn in each corner. This would be so much easier to do on a computer, with a nice internet connection. The trouble with prison is that there are so few distractions. It had been bad enough in gen pop; in solitary it is much worse. Apart from three meals a day, meds, exercise once a day and, on the really exciting days, a shower, there is nothing to interrupt the steady monotony of the days. There is nothing to get between him and his thoughts.
He stares at the paper again, decides it's a good start and puts it to one side. He doesn't know why he should write a book on diagnostics anyway, he's finished with that, he's going to study dark matter, and remove himself from humanity. He doesn't want to be a doctor any more. A couple of weeks ago he was sure of that. Has saving one guy's life changed his mind? Diagnosing Nick has brought him nothing but being locked in a room barely bigger than his bathroom and another eight months of purgatory. His gift has never brought him more than transitory happiness.
He wonders if anyone on the outside will notice when he doesn't come out of the prison door in two months time, on his original release date. Was anyone planning to be there for him? He's had no contact with any of them since it happened, maybe they don't even know he's here, let alone when he’s due out. He hopes his Mom doesn't know anyway, it would be just one more disappointment in her life full of them. At least his Dad isn't around to see all his prophecies for House's life come true. He wonders what his biological dad, a devout minister, would make of this, what he would make of a son being in jail for a violent act committed against a woman. He knows what John House would have made of it, he'd always stressed to Greg that violence against women was not okay; violence against small children in the name of discipline was apparently fine in his eyes.
He picks up the paper again, seeking to distract himself from his memories of the past, but the words are blurred and he finds it hard to focus on them. He puts it down again and stares at the ceiling. He wants to not think, he wants to just turn off. He wants the day to finish so it can be another day gone.
He wants someone to talk to.
Blythe wakes up early, as she often does. Thomas is a later riser so she leaves him to it and goes down into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. As the coffee brews she draws her gown around her tightly against the cool morning air. She glances around the kitchen, at the small table and for one moment she imagines a young Greg sitting there, his face screwed up in concentration as he reads a book and eats his breakfast. She shakes her head, banishing the image. She knows why she's thinking about him. Last night there had been one of those silly reality shows on the television, it had been about a prison, and the lives of the prisoners. She'd seen only five minutes before she'd turned it off, horrified at the idea of her beautiful son in a place like that.
She has thought about visiting him, many times. Once she'd gotten as far as looking up the prison regulations for visitors. Then she remembered that Greg had never liked her hovering over him, or her seeing him when he was in trouble. He'd always run and hidden after John had disciplined him, never seeking his mother's comfort. He hadn't called her during the infarction, or after he'd been shot, and she hadn't known about Mayfield until months later.
No, she won't embarrass him by going to see him in prison, he wouldn't want that. She pours out her cup of coffee and takes it back to the bedroom to drink while she reads; a nice romance book to take her mind off things until Thomas wakes up.
no subject
I also think by this time she realizes it is too late to help Greg, and seeing that she failed him when he was so young, she feels that respecting his wishes now at least makes sense.
no subject
It's good reasoning, but I don't know, I can't help feeling that a good Mum would go visit him, whether or not it was what he wanted. Jail must be an awfully lonely place. You'd think she'd want to see her son and make sure he was okay (and yes, I'm totally projecting my own awesome relationship with my Mum onto this situation :)