Fic : Thirty Days of Solitary 12/30
Jul. 8th, 2012 09:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auTitle: Thirty Days of Solitary 12/30
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 12 Tuesday 18th October 2011
Having a shower has become a highlight of his day, not as good as exercise, because then he gets to see outside, but it happens less so in some incredibly pathetic way it is more exciting. It would be better if he could walk there on his own, if he didn't have cuffs biting into his wrists. If his arms weren't held by prison officers on either side so that his limping gait will get him there. It would be better if he could have the water as hot as he likes it, and take as long as he wants, it would be better if there was music, or if he was permitted to sing. It would be better if he wasn't being watched.
But, it's still good. It's away from his tiny cell, with the four walls, and the bed and the sink and the nothing else. It's a glimpse of a world away, it's a minimum of human contact even if they only bark orders at him. The first few times he tried to talk to them. His witty sallies were met with stone faces and even though he tried to needle them and insult them there was never any response. After the first few times he didn't bother any more. He tells himself it's because it's pointless, and that it's not because he's scared of losing the few privileges he does have.
So they march him to the shower, take his cuffs and leg chain off, and he strips out of his shorts and t-shirt (the orange jumpsuit has long since been abandoned back in his cell). He thinks they give him about five minutes, so he's quick about soaping himself up and rinsing it off. As the luke warm water rushes down the drain he watches it escape. He doesn't look towards the door where the guard is standing, for a brief moment in time he pretends that he's back in his apartment, washing away the strains of the day in a hot shower. A bath would be better of course, it's a long time since he'd had one but the shower helps him feel more human.
The water switches off far too early and he's tossed a scratchy towel to dry himself with. He does that quickly too, no need to give the guard a show and then it's back on with a clean set of white shorts and t-shirt. They offer him the razor today and he thinks about refusing, the deranged prisoner look suiting his mood, but it’s another ten minutes out of his cell so he takes it and scrapes the scruff off.
The handcuffs and leg chains are replaced and they hustle him out again, moving the human charge around as efficiently as possible.
He takes the trip back to his cell as slowly as he can, dragging his right foot to emphasize just how crippled he is. He's in no hurry to be stuffed back into his cell, and as uninteresting as the sterile blank walls are out here, they're a lot more exciting than the ones he stares at all day.
There's the usual noise from the other inmates as he limps past their cages, he's on the end of the row (what better place to put a cripple?) so it's always mildly entertaining to hear them start up. And, truthfully, it's comforting to hear other voices, even if they are shouting obscenities or just weird wordless screams. Today a hand comes through one of the food ports, reaching out and the guards pause and shout an order for the prisoner to put his hand back inside. House and his guards wait a few tense seconds and then the hand retreats. House wonders if anything will come of it once he’s put back in his cell.
The door is unlocked and after his usual moment's pause he goes inside, still handcuffed. The door slams shut and he backs up to the cuff port to have them removed. As usual he feels a slight fear that they're not going to take them off, that they're going to leave him in the cuffs but the routine is followed and they always come off.
The cuff port rattles shut and he's alone again, in his cell. Next will be lunch, and then exercise, and then dinner – each activity hours away from the previous one. Still, he feels refreshed, more human from the shower and he sits down on the bed and takes up his pad of paper, determined to make inroads into his Diagnostics textbook. He needs to keep his mind active while he’s in here, he needs to do something to pass the time.
He makes a few notes, adds a few lines to his previous efforts and then starts doodling pornographic figures on the paper. His hand is still sore from the previous day’s activities, and now it’s a painful, nagging soreness that makes it hard to write rather than a blessed distraction from the screaming pain in his leg. Next time he’ll have to try something that hurts only for a short time.
After a while he puts the paper down, tosses the pen away and lies down on his bunk. There’s time for a little sleep before lunch.
Wilson is in the cafeteria eating his lunch alone when he's joined by Foreman. He looks up, with surprise, Foreman usually has lunch at his desk if he's in the hospital. And he's never been one for casual conversation with his colleagues, let alone his employees. Wilson suspects that Foreman's new position is still sitting uncomfortably on him, even after a few months. He's much younger than most of the senior staff, and with very little experience in administration, he was a bold choice by the Board.
“House was supposed to get parole last week but he got into some trouble so now he has to serve the rest of the sentence,” Foreman gets straight to the point. Much like House Foreman has little use for small talk.
Wilson isn't sure what he's supposed to say to that. He's made it clear before that he's had no contact with House while he's been in prison, hasn't even heard from him since the day when House walked off and left him alone to deal with the chaos he’d just created. Several of the hospital staff have tried to mine him for gossip and information and Wilson has refused to be drawn into it. He knows there's a pool for when House manages to regain employment at PPTH but he's never contributed to it. Probably never would be his guess, House made it pretty clear he was done with the lot of them.
“House didn't get early parole? I’m shocked.” Wilson says dryly. He’s always found the fellow’s continuing ability to be surprised by House’s activities amusing.
“He was trying to save some guy's life apparently, disobeyed direct orders from the prison officers because he wanted to test his diagnosis. Now they're talking about extra charges, he may serve even longer than a year.”
Wilson's stomach twists a little at that. He's not House's friend any more, but he doesn't wish him ill. House is undoubtedly sick, he needs help, but Wilson can’t be the one to give it to him, he’s tried that so many times and failed. He rubs his wrist and waits for Foreman to tell him what this is all about.
“I'm going to try and get him paroled to my custody, on condition that he's employed here, working for me.”
Yes, Wilson thinks, that's going to end really well.
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 12 Tuesday 18th October 2011
Having a shower has become a highlight of his day, not as good as exercise, because then he gets to see outside, but it happens less so in some incredibly pathetic way it is more exciting. It would be better if he could walk there on his own, if he didn't have cuffs biting into his wrists. If his arms weren't held by prison officers on either side so that his limping gait will get him there. It would be better if he could have the water as hot as he likes it, and take as long as he wants, it would be better if there was music, or if he was permitted to sing. It would be better if he wasn't being watched.
But, it's still good. It's away from his tiny cell, with the four walls, and the bed and the sink and the nothing else. It's a glimpse of a world away, it's a minimum of human contact even if they only bark orders at him. The first few times he tried to talk to them. His witty sallies were met with stone faces and even though he tried to needle them and insult them there was never any response. After the first few times he didn't bother any more. He tells himself it's because it's pointless, and that it's not because he's scared of losing the few privileges he does have.
So they march him to the shower, take his cuffs and leg chain off, and he strips out of his shorts and t-shirt (the orange jumpsuit has long since been abandoned back in his cell). He thinks they give him about five minutes, so he's quick about soaping himself up and rinsing it off. As the luke warm water rushes down the drain he watches it escape. He doesn't look towards the door where the guard is standing, for a brief moment in time he pretends that he's back in his apartment, washing away the strains of the day in a hot shower. A bath would be better of course, it's a long time since he'd had one but the shower helps him feel more human.
The water switches off far too early and he's tossed a scratchy towel to dry himself with. He does that quickly too, no need to give the guard a show and then it's back on with a clean set of white shorts and t-shirt. They offer him the razor today and he thinks about refusing, the deranged prisoner look suiting his mood, but it’s another ten minutes out of his cell so he takes it and scrapes the scruff off.
The handcuffs and leg chains are replaced and they hustle him out again, moving the human charge around as efficiently as possible.
He takes the trip back to his cell as slowly as he can, dragging his right foot to emphasize just how crippled he is. He's in no hurry to be stuffed back into his cell, and as uninteresting as the sterile blank walls are out here, they're a lot more exciting than the ones he stares at all day.
There's the usual noise from the other inmates as he limps past their cages, he's on the end of the row (what better place to put a cripple?) so it's always mildly entertaining to hear them start up. And, truthfully, it's comforting to hear other voices, even if they are shouting obscenities or just weird wordless screams. Today a hand comes through one of the food ports, reaching out and the guards pause and shout an order for the prisoner to put his hand back inside. House and his guards wait a few tense seconds and then the hand retreats. House wonders if anything will come of it once he’s put back in his cell.
The door is unlocked and after his usual moment's pause he goes inside, still handcuffed. The door slams shut and he backs up to the cuff port to have them removed. As usual he feels a slight fear that they're not going to take them off, that they're going to leave him in the cuffs but the routine is followed and they always come off.
The cuff port rattles shut and he's alone again, in his cell. Next will be lunch, and then exercise, and then dinner – each activity hours away from the previous one. Still, he feels refreshed, more human from the shower and he sits down on the bed and takes up his pad of paper, determined to make inroads into his Diagnostics textbook. He needs to keep his mind active while he’s in here, he needs to do something to pass the time.
He makes a few notes, adds a few lines to his previous efforts and then starts doodling pornographic figures on the paper. His hand is still sore from the previous day’s activities, and now it’s a painful, nagging soreness that makes it hard to write rather than a blessed distraction from the screaming pain in his leg. Next time he’ll have to try something that hurts only for a short time.
After a while he puts the paper down, tosses the pen away and lies down on his bunk. There’s time for a little sleep before lunch.
Wilson is in the cafeteria eating his lunch alone when he's joined by Foreman. He looks up, with surprise, Foreman usually has lunch at his desk if he's in the hospital. And he's never been one for casual conversation with his colleagues, let alone his employees. Wilson suspects that Foreman's new position is still sitting uncomfortably on him, even after a few months. He's much younger than most of the senior staff, and with very little experience in administration, he was a bold choice by the Board.
“House was supposed to get parole last week but he got into some trouble so now he has to serve the rest of the sentence,” Foreman gets straight to the point. Much like House Foreman has little use for small talk.
Wilson isn't sure what he's supposed to say to that. He's made it clear before that he's had no contact with House while he's been in prison, hasn't even heard from him since the day when House walked off and left him alone to deal with the chaos he’d just created. Several of the hospital staff have tried to mine him for gossip and information and Wilson has refused to be drawn into it. He knows there's a pool for when House manages to regain employment at PPTH but he's never contributed to it. Probably never would be his guess, House made it pretty clear he was done with the lot of them.
“House didn't get early parole? I’m shocked.” Wilson says dryly. He’s always found the fellow’s continuing ability to be surprised by House’s activities amusing.
“He was trying to save some guy's life apparently, disobeyed direct orders from the prison officers because he wanted to test his diagnosis. Now they're talking about extra charges, he may serve even longer than a year.”
Wilson's stomach twists a little at that. He's not House's friend any more, but he doesn't wish him ill. House is undoubtedly sick, he needs help, but Wilson can’t be the one to give it to him, he’s tried that so many times and failed. He rubs his wrist and waits for Foreman to tell him what this is all about.
“I'm going to try and get him paroled to my custody, on condition that he's employed here, working for me.”
Yes, Wilson thinks, that's going to end really well.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 12:19 am (UTC)As good and sad as this fic is, that last line had me laughing. You captured him so well here.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 01:15 am (UTC)Off my soap box, now. Anyway, this chapter was disturbing, as it should be, but I loved it. Echoing yarroway's feelings about Wilson's thoughts - Thanks for the little levity after the tough day House had.
And we, of course, know how that first case "after prison" will work out. Success, a punch, and a steak dinner!
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 06:29 am (UTC)Yes, at least we know that it's all going to work out once House gets out of prison - it was very generous of Wilson to forgive House that easily, but I'm glad they went that route :)
Thanks again for reading and commenting :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 06:13 am (UTC)Thanks for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 05:11 am (UTC)And Wilson, well, Wilson is good at lying to himself.
I am amazed House is not hallucinating by now.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 06:34 am (UTC)Glad you thought the Foreman thing worked well, and of course Wilson is going to be drawn into the whole thing against his will, luckily we know it all works out all right :)
Thanks for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 05:46 pm (UTC)Ah, yes, House's obsessions (diagnostics) and his distractions (pornography). Some things never change.
Like Wilson, I think Foreman overestimates his ability to keep House in check, and S8 highlights this misjudgment on his part. Can't remember how often House flaunted his ability to jerk Foreman around, and as the last episode showed, Foreman had nothing to set against House's outrages except the oft repeated threat to send him back to prison. What if House had actually lasted through the entire parole period? How would Foreman have made him do anything he wanted after that? But it's totally like Foreman to feel the need to show that he can do what House (or Cuddy) did.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-09 08:28 am (UTC)Thanks for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 08:39 pm (UTC)In this casethe pain didn't abate, just changed tone when we switched from prison to hospital. I wonder whether Wilson working on his wrist is a parallel with House hurting his hand; trying to use a pain he finds acceotable to distract himself from one he doesn't. Because all his keeping himself away is just a sign if hiw much pain Wilson felt in the long months House was away.
Loved the fact that Wilson can nevertheless care for House's well being, and have a much better grasp of the situation than Foreman (who should definitely know better, but doesn't).
no subject
Date: 2012-07-09 08:31 am (UTC)