misanthrope_md | for Phedre

for Phedre

House was starting to wish that Phedre wouldn't come. It was a terrible idea, suggesting that she look after him while he was detoxing. He didn't know what he'd been thinking... oh, right, he was stoned at the time. All he had to do was suck it up for a few days. If he could get through the worst of it, then he could at least make his way to the compound for food.

He'd told her that it would start when the island changed back, but in reality it had been a couple of days before that since the last time he'd been to the opium den. He'd woken up itching for a fix, only to realize that he was in his own bed again. He'd felt like sobbing.

Now, a day later, he could tick off the symptoms, the ones that he'd told Phedre to look up: watery eyes, runny nose, dilated pupils, loss of appetite, panic attacks, chills, nausea, muscle cramps, insomnia, stomach cramps, vomiting, shaking, sweating. And of course, the normal pain in his leg was magnified by about five, maybe ten times. He could barely move.

He was dreading that she would come. Praying that she would. No, no, she didn't need to see this, no one should see this. It was his own goddamn fault. Clad in pajama pants and a tshirt, he sprawled on the bed with the sheets tangled around him. Fucker was barking at the door. Oh right, House had left him outside. That was better.

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The morning the island returned to normal, I began making my preparations. I had considered putting something together sooner, but I didn't know what would remain and what would disappear with the snow. Even prepared with that knowledge the... shock of the sudden change was still surprising to me. However, on that second day, I took my basked and a couple of bags and headed towards Greg's home.

I nearly panicked when I heard the dog barking, sounding almost frantic trying to get in. "Greg!" I shouted a bit, keeping my voice as calm as possible as I tried to soothe the dog. I opened the door, keeping the dog outside for the time being and waited for my eyes to adjust to the light.

House heard her outside, and then groaned when he heard the door open. He expected Fucker to leap up onto the be with him, and was relieved when he Phedre apparently had the good sense to keep him outside.

"Welcome..." he sighed, and made a sorry attempt to yank at the sheet.

"Oh, Elua, Greg..." I set my parcels down and crossed to the bed, noting his condition. "I should have come by yesterday, I knew it."

Reaching with my hand, I placed it against his forehead, worried at his condition. He probably needed clean sheets, a cool cloth for his face. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Nah, I was actually kind of hoping you'd decide not to come at all." House rolled over onto his back.

"I feel like shit," he said. "But your sympathy would be misplaced."

"This isn't exactly sympathy, you brought this upon yourself knowing full well what would happen."

Moving off to the side, I started to look for a basin I could put some water in and a sponge or cloth of some kind.

"Take your shirt off, you've been sweating, you might feel better if I help you clean up a bit."

House managed to sit up a little. "I'm having some deja vu," he admitted. "Except last time you stumbled on this on accident and then hauled me off to your house whether I liked it or not."

"Then I imagine you should just do what I say since you know I won't be brooking any dissent."

I found a bowl and rag and proceeded to fill the former with water. I should probably change the sheets as well, but I would settle for making him more comfortable. Once he was comfortable, I'd set about cleaning and trying to get some food into him.

"Shirt, please."

House hesitated, then did as he was told, pulling off his shirt and letting it fall to the bed beside him.

"You must really want to learn medicine," he mumbled.

"Yes, but that's not why I'm here."

I pulled over a chair and set the bowl on it where it would be stable while I sat next to him on the bed. I pulled the rag out of the bowl and started to gently run it along his shoulders.

"No one should have to go through these things alone."

House let out a quiet sigh when the rag touched him. "And you barely know me," he pointed out. "You're really too good of a person." Too good for him, certainly.

A stab of pain shot through his leg and his hands curled into tight fists at his side.

"I barely know anyone here. I have to start somewhere."

My hand stilled on his back, and my face darkened with concern. I still didn't know exactly what was wrong with his leg, but it was certainly compounding the situation.

"What can I do, Greg?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice tight with pain. "I told you, there's nothing. The pain..." He took a deep breath. "The withdrawal makes it worse."

"Keep breathing, then, deep breaths, it will help."

I kept bathing him using small circular movements, tracing the outline of muscles. It was a small comfort, I imagined, but I would give him what I could.

A deep breath, head lolling forward.

"We can keep playing our game if you want," he said. "Ask me anything." He'd welcome a distraction, at least until it got hard to talk.

I noticed his shift in focus and placing the rag aside, I moved behind him to try and ease some of the tension from his shoulders. I may not be able to stop all the pained muscles he had, but I could relieve the tension in a few. Besides, he'd said already that he enjoyed my massages, it was another small comfort I could provide.

"Why was the sword brought here for you? What did it mean to you?" I was aware that I was perhaps trading one pain for another, but it was something that had been in my mind.

"I told you it belonged to my father," House said. He let his head bend forward more, and her hands actually felt good.

"Well... turned out he wasn't actually my father. I always suspected. Then I found some DNA tests so I knew for sure. Not that it really mattered by that point."

"DNA test? How does that tell you who is your father or not?" The term was completely foreign me, although it was obviously some kind of confirmation. But as we were asking questions, it was as good as the next one. My fingers worked over his back, finding and loosening knots as they went.

Ah, right. She wouldn't have been here long enough to have caught up on modern science yet.

"DNA is sort of like a... blueprint, for life. Everyone is a little different. But..." His voice trailed off as he was distracted by pain for a moment, and then he continued. "But our DNA comes from our parents - half from our mother, half from our father. If you compare the DNA of two people you can tell if they're related."

"And you can read that somehow? How, by measuring and comparing physical characteristics?" It seemed an obvious answer to me, we all resembled our family by blood to certain extents, but I had the feeling that it was more complicated than that.

"That isn't right, is it?" Likely one of those technologically advanced things I would have to learn.

"Not really," House admitted. "Complicated equipment, techniques... I'll tell you about it later, when there are books and my leg doesn't feel like it's been chewed apart my fire ants..."

"Will it help if I massage the leg, then? You need to relax and try and eat a little."

Even if he was sick later, he couldn't go without eating and if he'd been in this state for awhile, he was already far behind. I couldn't help but wonder why he would keep doing these things to himself, but then, I had my own addictions, didn't I? Who would help when my own need drove me to distraction?

House let his eyes close for a moment, and then finally nodded. "Okay. Sure. I should warn you it's not really pretty but you probably already guessed that."

"And I have told you, I've seen terrible things in my life. I will survive this."

I slid off the bed and went back to my bags. There was some massage oil there that I had found at home. Undoubtedly Alcuin's but I was certain that he wouldn't mind. It had a pleasing, calming scent and I hoped that it would help relax him. Aside from keeping him as pain-free as possible, making sure that he's eating and drinking, I had few ideas of how to help him through this.

"You'll need to remove your pants."

"What, no foreplay?" House managed the joke pretty weakly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down. He was wearing boxers underneath, but they just barely covered the ruin of his right thigh, scar tissue mottled where the muscle had been removed. He winced.

"Not this time, Greg." I chuckled as I brought the oil over and joined him on the bed, examining the leg closely and schooling my expression. It truly looked painful, but no more so then the wounds of soldiers I'd seen on the battlefield. Just as they had to endure in order to live, so must had Greg.

"How did this happen, if you don't mind my asking?" I poured a little of the oil into my hand to warm before I began to work on the abused limb.

House looked at the ceiling, not wanting to watch her.

"Infarction," he said, voice clinical. "Blood clot. Undiagnosed, for three days... by that time there was too much dead muscle. They wanted to amputate my leg, I wouldn't let them, this was the compromise, though not one I agreed to."

I didn't understand most of the terms he used, but is sounded familiar enough. A wound, left untreated, resulted in rotting tissue that had to be removed. I'd seen enough soldiers face amputation to understand that much.

I started slowly, not wanting to cause more pain in my attempts to relieve it, gently finding my way in the unfamiliar landscape of his remaining muscles. "Why did you not agree to it? If you would have died, was this not the only remaining option?"

House was clearly tense as soon as her hands went to his leg. Which he knew was more psychological than due to the pain, so he just took a breath and kept looking up at the ceiling.

"I've never been one for compromise," he said, which he knew was not a good answer, but it was the one he had. "Someone else made the decision for me, in the end, when I was in a coma. I was... on Vicodin - it's an opiate - at home. It kept me able to function. Here... here, it's been miserable. I've been through this more than once because when I can find drugs, I take them. Every time it seems like it'll be worth this, just for some amount of relief."

As my hand moved slowly over his ruined leg, I couldn't help but wonder. "Might I ask, if this causes you so much anguish, if it causes you to do this to yourself over and over..." I paused, hands stilling for the briefest moment. "Why do you keep the leg? I've seen a man here, who's had his removed and while it is difficult he has a replacement of sorts. He can move so well as I didn't notice it at first. Does the pain mean that much to you?"

"I like my leg," House said, a note of insistence in his voice. "I've had it as long as I can remember."

Then he swallowed hard and added, "Besides, it doesn't matter here. There isn't the kind of technology available for a decent prosthetic. And I've been living with this now for a decade."

"Does it matter? There are scientists on the island who have created marvelous things so I hear. Ones who understand engineering, medicine, and things do have the habit of showing up. you say that, but have you really explored the option?"

I let my fingers dig a little deeper, looking for the knots in the stressed muscles. "I understand the need for pain, you know I do. The reminder that we live, that we exist, that we feel. But the ending of that pain is a reward of its own. There's no shame in admitting you've had enough, you need it to stop. There are some pains even I can't take for long." The image of the Mahgrkagir's little toys and how they made me scream, begging for mercy in a game in which I knew there was none to be had made me shiver a bit as I spoke. "You have the option of ending yours."

House looked at her sharply. "I don't need the pain," he said. "And I don't want it. I never have. If there was an actual way to end it, I would. Cutting off my leg is not an option, especially not here."

He felt a wave of nausea and closed his eyes again with a moan.

Yet he clung to it like a child, his pain, used it to excuse everything he was suffering now, every action that led to this moment. And he would do it again, I had no doubt. Perhaps it was too late for him, the had lost the hope and stayed in the darkness inside himself. There were those like that, I knew full well.

"Greg?" His moan pulled me from my reverie and I paused, looking to the side for a bucket in case he should need one. It was a difficult and painful process, weaning oneself from these drugs. I had seen those that had killed themselves rather than face it.

"Phedre." Suddenly House grasped her hand, an almost pleading expression on his face.

"Thank you."

Leaning forward, I pressed his hand to my lips. "It will get better. Just a few days and you'll be right again." As right as right was for him at any rate. He worried me in a way I couldn't define, perhaps didn't want to, but for now all I could do was stay with him, try to ease his pain as best I could.

House relaxed a little, and closed his eyes as he waited for the nausea to pass.

"Right is an interesting word for it," he mumbled.

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