Fic : Thirty Days of Solitary 29/30
Jul. 24th, 2012 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
menolly_auTitle: Thirty Days of Solitary 29/30
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 29 Friday 4th November 2011
His book turns up today. He'd asked, back on the third (or fourth? he can't remember) day of solitary to have the book on dark matter he'd been studying sent to him. Prison was supposed to be about education and rehabilitation after all and prisoners were not usually denied access to their study materials. Of course nothing had happened and House had all but forgotten that he'd even made the request. Now, here it is, some three weeks later, sitting on his bunk looking battered but still in one piece.
He picks up the book and leafs through it, he smiles in amusement as a picture of a naked woman falls out of one page, he hadn't put that in there, and he wonders which of his fellow inmates had taken this for 'safekeeping' when he'd been tossed into solitary. Or maybe someone knew it was being sent to him and decided to include it for 'morale' purposes. Yeah, that didn't seem very likely; he wasn't any more popular in prison than he had been at PPTH.
Maybe it had been Frankie. He'd been in prison a long time, and had helped House adjust to prison routine when he'd first arrived. House is pretty sure he'd have been in a lot more trouble without Frankie's help. He's also sure that Frankie would have shaken his head in disapproval and disbelief when word had gotten around about what had happened in the prison clinic. 'Do your time and get out alive' he'd told House, over and over again, 'keep your head down and your mouth shut'. House should have listened to him, he’s pretty sure that Frankie has never spent any time in solitary.
Frankie had played chess with him, had helped him when things were looking bad a few times, and had given him a weapon when House had asked him for it. Maybe Frankie had kept his book safe and added the bonus picture for him. Too bad House hadn't had the picture yesterday when he'd been trying to jerk off.
House holds the book close, he'd let himself get distracted by medicine again, thinking he could go back to that field. But going back into medicine, if he even had that option, would just be getting back on the same old miserable treadmill he'd been on for years. If going to prison has shown him anything it's that he needs to start fresh, to break old habits.
This book is his future, this is what he's decided to do with his life, get a PhD in physics, study dark matter and go into research. No more diagnosing, no more hospital, no more patients, and no more team. He’ll go into a profession where he doesn’t have to interact with people at all.
At least, he thinks grimly, he's had practice this last month at that. He picks up his pad of paper, contemplating the blank page. He can see the imprint of his diagnostics text book work on the page, but the pages he’d written are screwed up where he left them. Good riddance.
He sits back against the wall and picks up his dark matter book, pen in hand, to resume his studies.
He reads the dog-eared page he'd been on, during his last day in the main prison. He reads it again, and then once more. Taps the pen on his paper, and then reads the page again. The equations swim before his eyes, not helped by his lack of glasses. He holds the page up a bit closer to his eyes and tries to concentrate. His mind wanders and he finds that he’s not taking in the words that are written there. They seem meaningless now. Where before he'd scribbled in the book, and filled his prison cell with physics graffiti now he finds that he can't focus on the concepts the book is illuminating. What had seemed so enticing, and such a promising avenue for him to pursue now seems lost to him.
He throws the book against a wall and stares at his empty page of paper. It's the lack of mental stimulation, from being stuck in this cell. His brain has become rusty from disuse. He'll be able to read and understand the book again; he just needs to get back into the groove. Maybe he should start back at the beginning.
He glances down at the book on the floor. Start at the beginning, he tells himself, he can do this.
He drops his pen on the floor and closes his eyes. Maybe he'll have a nap first. There’ll be plenty of time for physics later.
Wilson grabs his lunch and sits at his desk to eat it and surf the internet. It's nice not having to use extreme measures to protect his browsing history from prying eyes and to not have to lock up his email with multiple passwords. He can turn on his computer without fear that House will have rigged it to burst into an explosion of porn and music as soon as he opens the lid.
He doesn't quite know how he winds up at the New Jersey Department of Correction website but there he is. He pokes around for a bit and then finds an area where an inmate's record can be pulled up. He goes through the official page of disclaimers and such, and promises not to use this information to harass or intimidate anyone, and then he's faced with a search engine. He puts in House's name and there he is. A simple mug shot of House on the right side of the screen and his vital statistics on the left. House hasn't managed to slip in any false information here; it's all there, including his birthdate, which he usually keeps a closely guarded secret.
He studies the photo, knowing by this stage it's nearly nine months old. House is looking serious, not pulling one of his stupid faces. He looks his age, his eyes are tired, there are pain lines creasing his face. Wilson wonders how he is set up for pain medication in the prison; surely they would allow him something? For all his addiction and his abuse of his Vicodin he knows that House does feel physical pain, at sometimes crippling levels, every day. And if they denied him the Vicodin he would have gone through an agonising withdrawal. Wilson has witnessed that twice, and he knows he didn’t see the worst of it. He can’t imagine how much worse it would have been, going through it in jail.
His attention goes back to the screen; House’s crimes are detailed below his vital statistics, including the additional crimes of which he's been convicted. His release date is listed as being eleven months from now.
Wilson idly pulls up a few other random records of inmates, seeing many of them serving life sentences, reading their lengthy list of convictions. They look like, well, criminals – it’s hard to picture House in that company.
After a while he turns the laptop off and looks out at the empty balcony, the balcony he shared with House and now no longer uses. He remembers the good times.
He realises just how much he has missed House.
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 29 Friday 4th November 2011
His book turns up today. He'd asked, back on the third (or fourth? he can't remember) day of solitary to have the book on dark matter he'd been studying sent to him. Prison was supposed to be about education and rehabilitation after all and prisoners were not usually denied access to their study materials. Of course nothing had happened and House had all but forgotten that he'd even made the request. Now, here it is, some three weeks later, sitting on his bunk looking battered but still in one piece.
He picks up the book and leafs through it, he smiles in amusement as a picture of a naked woman falls out of one page, he hadn't put that in there, and he wonders which of his fellow inmates had taken this for 'safekeeping' when he'd been tossed into solitary. Or maybe someone knew it was being sent to him and decided to include it for 'morale' purposes. Yeah, that didn't seem very likely; he wasn't any more popular in prison than he had been at PPTH.
Maybe it had been Frankie. He'd been in prison a long time, and had helped House adjust to prison routine when he'd first arrived. House is pretty sure he'd have been in a lot more trouble without Frankie's help. He's also sure that Frankie would have shaken his head in disapproval and disbelief when word had gotten around about what had happened in the prison clinic. 'Do your time and get out alive' he'd told House, over and over again, 'keep your head down and your mouth shut'. House should have listened to him, he’s pretty sure that Frankie has never spent any time in solitary.
Frankie had played chess with him, had helped him when things were looking bad a few times, and had given him a weapon when House had asked him for it. Maybe Frankie had kept his book safe and added the bonus picture for him. Too bad House hadn't had the picture yesterday when he'd been trying to jerk off.
House holds the book close, he'd let himself get distracted by medicine again, thinking he could go back to that field. But going back into medicine, if he even had that option, would just be getting back on the same old miserable treadmill he'd been on for years. If going to prison has shown him anything it's that he needs to start fresh, to break old habits.
This book is his future, this is what he's decided to do with his life, get a PhD in physics, study dark matter and go into research. No more diagnosing, no more hospital, no more patients, and no more team. He’ll go into a profession where he doesn’t have to interact with people at all.
At least, he thinks grimly, he's had practice this last month at that. He picks up his pad of paper, contemplating the blank page. He can see the imprint of his diagnostics text book work on the page, but the pages he’d written are screwed up where he left them. Good riddance.
He sits back against the wall and picks up his dark matter book, pen in hand, to resume his studies.
He reads the dog-eared page he'd been on, during his last day in the main prison. He reads it again, and then once more. Taps the pen on his paper, and then reads the page again. The equations swim before his eyes, not helped by his lack of glasses. He holds the page up a bit closer to his eyes and tries to concentrate. His mind wanders and he finds that he’s not taking in the words that are written there. They seem meaningless now. Where before he'd scribbled in the book, and filled his prison cell with physics graffiti now he finds that he can't focus on the concepts the book is illuminating. What had seemed so enticing, and such a promising avenue for him to pursue now seems lost to him.
He throws the book against a wall and stares at his empty page of paper. It's the lack of mental stimulation, from being stuck in this cell. His brain has become rusty from disuse. He'll be able to read and understand the book again; he just needs to get back into the groove. Maybe he should start back at the beginning.
He glances down at the book on the floor. Start at the beginning, he tells himself, he can do this.
He drops his pen on the floor and closes his eyes. Maybe he'll have a nap first. There’ll be plenty of time for physics later.
Wilson grabs his lunch and sits at his desk to eat it and surf the internet. It's nice not having to use extreme measures to protect his browsing history from prying eyes and to not have to lock up his email with multiple passwords. He can turn on his computer without fear that House will have rigged it to burst into an explosion of porn and music as soon as he opens the lid.
He doesn't quite know how he winds up at the New Jersey Department of Correction website but there he is. He pokes around for a bit and then finds an area where an inmate's record can be pulled up. He goes through the official page of disclaimers and such, and promises not to use this information to harass or intimidate anyone, and then he's faced with a search engine. He puts in House's name and there he is. A simple mug shot of House on the right side of the screen and his vital statistics on the left. House hasn't managed to slip in any false information here; it's all there, including his birthdate, which he usually keeps a closely guarded secret.
He studies the photo, knowing by this stage it's nearly nine months old. House is looking serious, not pulling one of his stupid faces. He looks his age, his eyes are tired, there are pain lines creasing his face. Wilson wonders how he is set up for pain medication in the prison; surely they would allow him something? For all his addiction and his abuse of his Vicodin he knows that House does feel physical pain, at sometimes crippling levels, every day. And if they denied him the Vicodin he would have gone through an agonising withdrawal. Wilson has witnessed that twice, and he knows he didn’t see the worst of it. He can’t imagine how much worse it would have been, going through it in jail.
His attention goes back to the screen; House’s crimes are detailed below his vital statistics, including the additional crimes of which he's been convicted. His release date is listed as being eleven months from now.
Wilson idly pulls up a few other random records of inmates, seeing many of them serving life sentences, reading their lengthy list of convictions. They look like, well, criminals – it’s hard to picture House in that company.
After a while he turns the laptop off and looks out at the empty balcony, the balcony he shared with House and now no longer uses. He remembers the good times.
He realises just how much he has missed House.
