OF MOMENTS PAST

by entercreativename

Disclaimer - Wish I owned them, but I don't.

Synopsis - Ever have a dream you can't escape? House is stuck in his mind after a brush with a Vicodin overdose and needs to save the love of his life. But who is she? Please R&R. HouseStacy, HouseCameron, HouseWilson friendship.


CHAPTER 5 - RENDERINGS

Gregory House sat in his friend's office staring at the document in his hands, the document that gave him the power to play God to Stacy and decide her life or death should her condition worsen. The feeling of the paper was electric with the energy of the trust that Stacy Warner still had for him.

Yet, despite the power in his hands, and Wilson's insistence that he say something, House just sat there, his mind occupied with one other thing: Cameron. In his mind, he could see her still asleep in his office, lying in his chair and in pain. Pain similar to what he had been through. He closed his eyes and saw her restless sleep; she was tossing and turning, pained cries coming softly from her throat once in awhile; it was rude of him not to check on her. He knew he needed to care about the Proxy in his hands, and he needed to care about Stacy's condition, but he couldn't if his mind kept wandering back to her.

"House, say something!" Wilson stared at House's blank look in his eyes as he continued to stare at the paper, his food turning cold in front of him.

"I guess you'll be treating her then."

"You can still be involved, sit in on our meetings, consult on the case unofficially, or maybe just visit her."

House heard Wilson's tone change on the word "visit" to a harsher one, a more forceful one. He could tell Wilson didn't get what he was saying, couldn't really tell that his mind wasn't necessarily on Stacy at the moment. Or could it have been Wilson implying that he should treat his patients as patients from the beginning; not like a body with an organism attacking it. Either way, the tone in Wilson's voice implied that House needed to leave his friend's office at that moment to keep from having to defend himself from anything. He stood up.

"Of course House, you can finish your dinner first."

House looked down at the soup and Hunan Chicken in front of him and realized that he had never really been hungry that evening, he wondered what had even compelled him to eat that much soup in the first place. He wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin as he announced, "I'm actually not hungry," turned to the door, and left Wilson alone in his office. He knew that it really wasn't a good excuse to leave, as he knew Wilson knew that he was always hungry, but he really couldn't concentrate on eating at the moment no matter how hard he tried.

As he opened the door to the hallway outside, the hospital took on an eerie quiet as if almost no one was in the building. He looked around from where he stood and saw that indeed, no one was in the waiting area or at the nurses' station. Looking at his watch, 8:14 pm, he realized that not only should there be more people there, but time shouldn't have moved so quickly. He took a few steps towards his office debating on if he should wake Cameron or Stacy to visit; he was curious as to how both women were doing, but the pain from his thigh decided he needed to sit down. He made his way to his now deserted office and sat in his chair; it was still warm from Cameron having sat there most of the afternoon. As he sat down, he decided that Cameron had either finally decided to go home or was off doing something along the lines of being a doctor. Either way, he was happy that his office was deserted.

After settling into a comfortable position in his chair, he realized how badly his leg was hurting him. His excursion to the roof earlier had been a bad idea, despite the fact that it probably saved Stacy's life for if he were not up there at the time, no one would have seen her fall. He reached into his pocket for his trusted Vicodin and opened the bottle to shake out a pill, only to find it lighter and quieter than normal. House looked into the bottle more closely and discovered it was empty; hadn't he just filled it a few days ago? He checked the date and his suspicions were confirmed, which meant he had to find Wilson for a refill.

He slowly got up from his chair and regretted having to move for the ache in his leg seemed to be spreading throughout his body. His hip, spine, right shoulder, everything just ached, and each step seemed to be laborious in nature. He was surprised though that he had not counted the steps from his office to Wilson's like he did for steps in the stairwell. He started to count.

One.

He had already gone too far, but he knew Wilson was the only one who could get him the script; the other doctors in the building would just assume he was using them as a dealer and he did not want to embarrass himself in front of his team.

Two.

He heard the crepitus snake up his spine and down his right leg and arm as a sharp pain overcame his entire body; the muscles tightening around nerves cutting off the signals and instead sending sensations of extreme pain to his brain. He stopped and took a deep breath: he would get his bearings and move as fast as he could to Wilson's office and get his help. He took two more deep breaths and managed to contain himself enough to finally move.

Three, four, fiveā€¦

He sequenced through the numbers in his head as he ran into the next office to look for his friend, pain becoming second in his mind to the need to find Wilson. He opened the door and burst in, only to find the office deserted. His dinner was still on the tray in front of the couch, the proxy on the cushion next to where he had sat. He stood still taking in the scene: Wilson's lab coat and driving jacket on the coat hook, car keys in the pocket of the latter. Paperwork was arranged neatly on his friend's desk with the pen still open on the top sheet. Wilson's dinner was still there, half-eaten just like House's food. It was as if Wilson had just disappeared.

The lights flickered and everything shook gently. He could have sworn he heard someone, a familiar male voice, in the great distance yell, "He's seizing," but he wasn't sure.

House eased himself onto the couch to rest. He knew he wouldn't be able to go farther at all until his leg settled down, and then, he would search through Wilson's desk and forge his signature on the narcotic pad. He sat down and practiced breathing exercises to help alleviate the pain.

The lights flickered again.

House was now becoming spooked. First, everyone seemed to disappear, and now the hospital was having electrical problems, despite the backup generator. He looked out the window and the storm had subsided into a gentle snowfall. He knew that the weather precluded the hospital to be quiet, however, this was just wrong.

A dark shadowy figure whipped across the open doorway to the hall. He suddenly heard a woman's shriek that shattered all glass in the hospital. Stacy? Cameron? Someone needed help desperately, and he knew he was the only person around to fulfill the role. Adrenaline rushed through his veins at the sound as fight or flight kicked in. He stood up and ran the best he could to where the sound came from, ignoring the broken glass that littered the floor along his path. He turned a corner, and yet another corner, following hallways that resembled labyrinths in a nightmare of death and decay.

He turned a final corner into Stacy's room and heard the same voice in the distance yelling, "He's seizing again. Ativan!"

As he entered, he saw Cameron standing at the foot of Stacy's bed, where his former lover lay shaking in a seizure. Why had she screamed? Did she scream? What was going on?

"Ativan, stat." House commanded the younger doctor to help.

"Cameron! Ativan or did you not hear me?"

The younger doctor trembled but did not move.

House saw Cameron's state and realized that she would be of no help to him at the moment; either she was still high from her Vicodin or something else was terribly wrong with her. He threw his cane to the ground and limped to the medicine cabinet for the Ativan, plunging it into the IV attached to Stacy's arm, emptying the syringe of the medication.

He waited, and within a few moments, the seizure stopped. House looked at Cameron, who had stopped shivering as well, but her gaze was still fixed on a single random spot on the bed. Ironically, and this time he assumed it was all in his head, the lights returned to normal; the power company had apparently fixed the electrical problem.

"Cameron, what happened?" House asked in concern of the two women.

"Cameron?"

House walked over and put his hand on Cameron's shoulder to get her attention. She gasped. "Sir?"

"What happened here Cameron?" He tilted his head to match hers as he asked the question. She was still on the crutches.

"I don't know."

"Where is everyone?"

"I don't know that either."

House looked into Cameron's eyes; they were full of fear and pain. "So, you've also noticed that everyone else is gone?"

Cameron looked at House puzzled. "I noticed it was quiet, and the storm has driven most of the people home. Half of the nurses never reported tonight..."

"That's not what I meant. Where is everyone, right now?"

He saw Cameron stop and look around and he knew he was right. No one else could have been in the hospital. First, no one could have screamed in that way to break glass without shattering eardrums. Second, someone surely would have noticed the fact that all of the interior glass on that floor was blown apart. Also, wouldn't someone have seen that figure?

He took a step towards where his cane lay on the floor and a sharp pain raced through his leg; he grimaced and groaned as he fell to the floor, his arms catching the fall.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Leg. Need Vicodin. Couldn't find Wilson." He was desperate now and didn't care if Cameron saw him this way. He did care if Stacy did, but she was unconscious.

"How many are left in your bottle?"

"None. Wilson needs to rewrite."

He sensed her behind him as he was huddled over himself in pain on the floor. He hated this, allowing someone to see him vulnerable, especially when that someone was a person he either respected, liked, or both. He remembered the days after the infarction and how he didn't want Wilson to see him in pain. He always viewed Wilson as his best friend ever since they met, and he wanted to preserve the friendship for what it was; he didn't want the albatross of his disability to change that. The disability had changed his relationship with Stacy the moment that it happened, and he didn't want that either, but it inevitably happened.

The good thing about Cameron was that this was the only way she had known him, and now, he was beginning to know her in the same sense.

The touch of a soft hand and the rattle of a pill bottle next to his ear disrupted his thoughts. "Sir, have a couple of mine."

Was she actually offering him the drug out of her own pocket?

"You're right House, I really shouldn't have this strong of a dose."

He turned and looked at her. She was standing above him and he was now sitting on the floor, his cane at his side and took the bottle from her hand noting how high of a dosage Cuddy had put her on. "No wonder you're high." He opened the bottle and dry-swallowed two pills.

"You'll have to teach me that trick sometime."

"It's easy but takes practice." He waited a moment to make sure the painkiller was starting to work. "Thank you," he said as he reached for his cane and used Stacy's bed to help himself up off the cold floor. Time to direct his attention elsewhere, "How's Stacy doing?"

"Okay considering that she's lost a lot of blood. We've given her transfusions, but she keeps bleeding them out somehow. Chase and Foreman were trying to find the source of the bleed but couldn't. If we don't find it soon, she may not survive."

"It can't be that hard, she vomited blood. That's a clue, start looking. Get the team together."

"I can't find them House."

"What do you mean 'you can't find them?'" He was agitated now. He wanted to leave, and not see either Cameron or Stacy. He wanted to wallow in self-pity at home in his own bed. He was angry at Stacy for this entire evening. His leg hurt because of her, his heart ached because of her, and he was still at work because of her. If she had never come into his life, he would have been a better person in his mind.

"What I mean sir is that it seems as though no one else is in the hospital except the three of us in this room."

"C'mon, there has to be someone." This agitated him. The hospital took up an entire city block and was four stories tall; yet only three people were there? House thought for a moment, "Stay here and watch the patient, I'll go see if there's anyone else around."

With that, House left Stacy's room to enter the debilitated hospital, frightened of what he might witness.