PATIENT: Chapter 8: Paranoid
Title: Patient
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to writing this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
This Chapter: Suddenly, Tritter turned toward her, his face distorted with fury. “How do you think I’m doing? You people are purposely messing with me, withholding treatment and making me worse. And it’s all the fault of that drug-addicted junkie you work for! It’s just as I suspected-he’s trying to get even with me. I won’t let him get away with it. I’ll make sure of it!”
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
________________________________________________
Chapter 8: Paranoia
The next morning House insisted on coming to work. He was pale and shaken, but he was there, determination oozing out of every pore. He spent the early part of the morning in his office with the doors shut, the lights off and the blinds drawn listening to Mozart as he went over Tritter’s latest test results. Wilson ran interference for him, privately taking Devi aside and explaining the situation to her. She and Chase stayed as quiet as they could out of consideration for their boss.
Around 11:30, a tentative House slowly wheeled himself a few feet into the conference room. He looked around as if confused for a moment, and then slowly returned to his office, shutting the door behind him.
Devi and Chase stayed silent for nearly a minute before Devi finally said, “That was odd.”
With a quizzical look on his face, Chase shrugged his shoulders.
“What do you think that was all about?” Devi asked.
“Damned if I know,” replied Chase. “He seemed to be looking for something.”
* * * *
Lisa Cuddy had never believed in magic, but when her office door opened by itself at about 11:45, she momentarily thought that pixies or elves were at work. A few seconds later, the mystic mystery solved itself when she saw the top of House’s head as his wheelchair ease its way into her office. She wasn’t sure which astounded her more-something magical opening her office door or seeing House at work today.
“H-House. What are you doing here?”
He paused a moment before responding. “Last time I checked,” he said, mask back in place, “this is where I work.”
For second, Cuddy looked flummoxed. Then she pulled herself together, deciding that if House was going to pretend all was normal, she could, too.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, trying to look more relaxed and casual than she felt. Her fidgety fingers found a paperclip on the desk, and after unwinding it she began poking the soft pad of her forefinger with one of the sharp ends.
House’s head cocked to one side for a moment and a small smile crept over his face. His voice was even quieter than usual, evidence of the emotional state he was attempting to hide. “What you really mean is how the hell did I manage to get my shit together enough to come in today when my big, bad employee had me sucking my thumb and peeing my pants yesterday.”
Cuddy waited a fraction of a second too long before answer, letting House know that his response had left her feeling off balance. “Something like that,” she finally replied with a wry smile.
“Wilson tells me you suspended Foreman.”
She detected something in his tone of voice-a hint of irritation, perhaps?
“He’s lucky I didn’t fire him,” she said, wondering where this particular verbal dance was headed. Her interest piqued, she leaned forward in her chair, subconsciously bending the paperclip into a new and ever more useless shape.
“Un-suspend him,” said House unexpectedly.
“What?” asked Cuddy. “No. No way.”
“Yes. Yes way,” said House. His eyes locked onto hers and she recognized that immoveable stubbornness at work. She huffed in exasperation.
“House, the man lost it completely-he was totally unprofessional, and he endangered your wellbeing. Next time, he might become violent. Why the hell would you want me to ‘un-suspend’ him?”
House, who rarely made eye contact anymore, continuing to look her squarely in the eye.
“Because I need him.”
Startled, Cuddy fell back in her chair, the leather smacking her in the spine.
“Oh, come on,” she said, dropping the paperclip with a tiny clatter onto the wood of her desk. “He can’t be that good. All he ever does is argue with you, and roll his eyes every time you suggest something.”
House stared her down. “That’s why I need him,” House said. “I need someone to challenge me-keep me grounded.”
It had never dawned on Cuddy before that House might have any idea which role each of his minions actually played in the diagnostic process. To her surprise, this was turning into an interesting conversation.
“I’ll challenge you,” she counter-offered. She really didn’t want Foreman anywhere near House until his suspension was up, not the least because she’d never hear the end of it from Wilson, who had undoubtedly spent the night fuming over Foreman’s behavior.
“Not good enough,” said House. “I need someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”
Ouch. As glad as she was to have House occasionally returning to what passed for normal, she’d forgotten how sharp his tongue was and how ruthlessly he could wield it. Honesty seemed the best response.
“Hey, that hurt,” she said. In the past, she would never have dared let him know that his barbs had struck home, but now, he’d suffered enough and perhaps he deserved the truth, deserved to be told when he hurt someone else.
He scanned her face and his eyes softened.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice dropping into a low rasp. “Old habits, etc.”
“Forgiven,” said Cuddy affectionately. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Sure. But what about Foreman?”
Cuddy was puzzled. Other than his seemingly flimsy excuse about Foreman’s place on the team, why would House have any interest in being exposed to a man who just yesterday had reduced him to a blubbering mess on the floor? And if Foreman was so important to House, then why was he surreptitiously trying to help find him another job?
“Why, House? Why not let him go through his suspension and learn his lesson?”
Sometimes House surprised her, and this was one of those times.
“He’s already learned it,” replied House, tilted his head to one side and eyeing her through hooded lids. “The minute he apologized-something he never does-it was apparent that he’d ‘learned his lesson,’ as you so quaintly put it. He feels bad enough. Let him come back.”
Quietly stunned that House could be so magnanimous, she took a moment to think it over. On one level, what House said was logical and made sense. On another, she was still furious with Foreman and wanted to see him punished for what he did. So she did what she always did. She offered a compromise.
“How about part-time?” she offered as a compromise. “He works mornings, and takes off the afternoons for his therapy?” Mornings made the most sense, she thought, as House had more energy then and often left, exhausted, by mid-afternoon. Then Foreman could be of the most use. No, that’s no good, she thought suddenly, kicking herself for speaking before she’d thought it through. That means he’s also have the most exposure to House. Maybe better to have him there when House wasn’t. She searched House’s battle-scarred face for a response.
She could tell this was a difficult decision for him. He seemed to be pondering whether or not he should push her to let Foreman back full-time. Or perhaps he was wondering how well he’d do around the man who had frightened him so badly the day before. After a moment, his shoulders dropped and all the fight seemed to go out of him.
“Make it Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he said quietly, referring to his own days off. “I never said I wanted to see him. I just…” he let the sentence dangle for a moment as he figured out how to end it. Instead, he chose to start a new sentence altogether. “What he did-I expected it. Foreman’s not good at understanding things. He grabs hold of an idea-such as believing that all I am is an arrogant ass-and he holds on for dear life. He’s had to fight the world to get where he is, and fighting is all he really knows. Now there’s something he can’t fight-he can’t fight what Thompson did to all our lives or how his assumptions about me have been, shall we say, distorted. That internal conflict was bound to break out sooner or later. I don’t think he should be punished too much for doing something he couldn’t help.”
Cuddy stared at House in shock. She’d always known he was a keen judge of human nature, but she’d never heard him articulate his internal thinking before.
“I-I thought you hated psychology,” she said, finally.
A tight smile graced his face. “I do,” he replied. “I hate the psychobabbly crap that gets taught as psychology-the kind of nonsense that turns into those idiotic self-help books.”
“Then how…?”
“Just because I hate all the psychobabble doesn’t mean I don’t try to understand what makes people tick. Plus,” he admitted almost reluctantly, “Jacey Liu has shown me that not all psychology is nonsense. Sometimes it can be practical… even logical.”
It suddenly dawned on Cuddy that many of House’s most egregious pranks over the years had possibly been his own versions of psychology experiments-testing people to see what they’d do under duress, testing his own theories of human behavior in a live lab setting.
She shook the cobwebs out of her head and tried to get back to the topic at hand.
“Deal,” she said unexpectedly. “Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
It took House a minute to remember what she was referring to. Oh, yes. Foreman coming in on his own days off.
“Deal,” he said, sighing slightly in relief.
* * * *
Around the same time House was having his conversation with Cuddy, Devi entered Tritter’s room to check on her patient. After Chase had left House’s duplex the night before, he had returned to work, finding Devi pouring over journals in search of the diagnosis. He and Devi had stayed late into the night, probing their minds, textbooks and computers for an answer to Tritter’s symptoms. Both of them were beginning to be concerned, not just about Tritter’s worsening physical condition but also about his mental stability. As his body got weaker and weaker, Tritter got more and more agitated. His innate paranoia had become an almost constant state of mind. They’d called in a psych referral, but there’d been some trouble scheduling Tritter for an appointment.
Around 10 a.m., Devi checked in on him. She found him sitting up in bed, trying to watch television, although with his increasingly pronounced nystagmus, focusing his eyes on anything for very long was difficult.
“Good morning, Mr. Tritter. How are you feeling today?”
Suddenly, Tritter turned toward her, his face distorted with fury.
“How do you think I’m doing? You people are purposely messing with me, withholding treatment and making me worse. And it’s all the fault of that drug-addicted junkie you work for! It’s just as I suspected-he’s trying to get even with me. I won’t let him get away with it. I’ll make sure of it!”
Shocked, Devi took a step back.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Tritter. I-I don’t know what else to say to you, but you’re wrong.”
“I won’t stand for it,” yelled Tritter. “I won’t stand for it!”
Shaken, Devi turned and stormed from the room.
As soon as she left, Tritter called the Princeton police department, asking to speak to Stanley Skelton.
“Stan, it’s Michael Tritter. I need a favor.”
* * * *
By the end of the day Foreman had his meltdown, Rainie and Evan had interviewed a couple dozen people willing to talk about what had happened when they crossed paths with Michael Tritter. Eighteen of the twenty-four had eventually gone to prison for various relatively minor reasons, and the remaining six were shy and wary. As with Amberson, most of them responded only because of Rainie’s presence.
Once their interviews were collected, organized and entered into Rainie’s laptop, Evan printed out three copies-one for him, which he planned to take to work, along with the interview recordings, for safe-keeping; one for Rainie; and one to use as blackmail, if needed.
“Well, we’ve done it,” he said as he tucked the sheaf of papers into his knapsack. “Let’s hope the guy’s smart enough not to force us to use this against him.”
“Smart is not necessarily the adjective I’d use to describe Michael Tritter,” said Rainie, sounding more like her old, self-reliant, sharp-as-a-tack self. “Conniving, vindictive, devious, yes. Smart… not really.”
Hearing her talk this way reminded Evan of the years they’d shared, as students, as journalists and as friends, before everything went so very wrong, before Rainie had the life and personality literally beaten out of her. The image of an unsullied Rainie Adler appeared in his mind, her quick wit and sharp observations expanding his view of humanity and filling his life with warmth and humor. So he simply smiled. A nostalgic, poignant smile.
Taken aback, Rainie stared at him, bewildered. “What?” she asked. “Why do you look like that?”
Evan just smiled some more, his eyes soft… and perhaps a little moist. “Aw, punkin,” he said, finally. “I’ve missed you so much.” He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he’d learned, painfully, that the new Rainie didn’t respond well to unexpected physical contact.
Usually perceptive about the motivations of the people around her, Rainie wasn’t nearly as good at deciphering other people’s reactions to her.
“What? I don’t get it.”
Evan’s grin got bigger. “It’s okay, punkin. It’s okay. I’m just happy to have you back in my life.”
Rainie knew she wasn’t going to be able to figure this out, and she was smart enough to let it drop. If Evan was happy to be with her, if something she’d said or done meant something special to him, then she was okay with that.
* * * *
Devi stomped back into the conference room, where she found Chase studiously involved in a ancient textbook. He glanced up when she came in, his eyes narrowing when he saw her annoyed expression.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I guess so,” she replied shakily, not entirely sure if it was true. For some reason, she hesitated telling him how much Tritter had upset her, so she deflected onto a different topic. “It’s just…” she tilted her head toward House’s office. “I-I didn’t expect to see him here today.”
Seemingly unconcerned, Chase shrugged and tipped back in his chair, his eyes flickering over her face when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“He’s full of surprises,” Chase said nonchalantly.
She smiled an unconvincing smile. “I figured that out almost as soon as I started working for him.”
Chase went in for the kill. “So… how’s Tritter?”
This time, he stared intently, taking in the way she blanched at his question. She realized she’d underestimated him; he’d seen right through her. There were moments when his ability to pick up on people’s feeling was almost as uncanny as House’s. She gave up the pretense. “I don’t know what to say. He seems completely paranoid,” she admitted. “He blames Dr. House for the fact that we haven’t solved his case yet. I-it’s kind of frightening.”
Suddenly, Chase jumped up and headed for the door.
“I should have done this sooner,” he said in transit. “Cuddy needs to know what’s going on. I-I can’t let Tritter do anything that might upset House. After yesterday… after yesterday, I… I feel like I’ve got to be more proactive. And Tritter’s bad news. He’s dangerous, and I don’t trust him.”
They sprinted down the hall, Chase a few paces ahead of Devi. She struggled to keep up. But when they got to Cuddy’s office, they found it empty.
“Where’s Dr. Cuddy?” Chase asked Jane Montgomery, Cuddy’s assistant. “It’s important.”
Jane looked perturbed.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Chase. She’s out of the building-meeting with a donor. She won’t be back until late afternoon.”
“We need to talk to her now. Can you call her cell?”
“I suppose so. She does hate to be disturbed when she’s with a donor. You’re sure it’s important?”
Chase nodded vigorously. “Yes. It’s urgent.”
After Jane got Cuddy on the phone, Chase told her they had some concerns about House’s patient, without going into detail.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can get away,” she promised.
“Thanks, Dr. Cuddy,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
...Chapter 9
Author: zeppomarx
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, plus the characters created for Priority’s Exigencies and zeppomarx’s A Gentle Knock at the Door.
Summary: House’s minions find a new patient, one who is reluctant to allow House to treat him. Begins three months after the opening scene of A Gentle Knock at the Door. Part of the Contract universe, which includes DIY Sheep’s intense and angsty The Contract, and Priority’s sequel Exigencies.
Thanks: To priority and houserocket7 for encouraging me to writing this side story to A Gentle Knock on the Door, and for their faithful diligence in copy editing my sloppy prose.
Warnings, etc.: Generally safe, but references to torture, rape and major character death that has happened in the past. Some chapters are pretty angsty.
This Chapter: Suddenly, Tritter turned toward her, his face distorted with fury. “How do you think I’m doing? You people are purposely messing with me, withholding treatment and making me worse. And it’s all the fault of that drug-addicted junkie you work for! It’s just as I suspected-he’s trying to get even with me. I won’t let him get away with it. I’ll make sure of it!”
Chapter 7
Chapter 6
Chapter 5
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
________________________________________________
Chapter 8: Paranoia
The next morning House insisted on coming to work. He was pale and shaken, but he was there, determination oozing out of every pore. He spent the early part of the morning in his office with the doors shut, the lights off and the blinds drawn listening to Mozart as he went over Tritter’s latest test results. Wilson ran interference for him, privately taking Devi aside and explaining the situation to her. She and Chase stayed as quiet as they could out of consideration for their boss.
Around 11:30, a tentative House slowly wheeled himself a few feet into the conference room. He looked around as if confused for a moment, and then slowly returned to his office, shutting the door behind him.
Devi and Chase stayed silent for nearly a minute before Devi finally said, “That was odd.”
With a quizzical look on his face, Chase shrugged his shoulders.
“What do you think that was all about?” Devi asked.
“Damned if I know,” replied Chase. “He seemed to be looking for something.”
* * * *
Lisa Cuddy had never believed in magic, but when her office door opened by itself at about 11:45, she momentarily thought that pixies or elves were at work. A few seconds later, the mystic mystery solved itself when she saw the top of House’s head as his wheelchair ease its way into her office. She wasn’t sure which astounded her more-something magical opening her office door or seeing House at work today.
“H-House. What are you doing here?”
He paused a moment before responding. “Last time I checked,” he said, mask back in place, “this is where I work.”
For second, Cuddy looked flummoxed. Then she pulled herself together, deciding that if House was going to pretend all was normal, she could, too.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, trying to look more relaxed and casual than she felt. Her fidgety fingers found a paperclip on the desk, and after unwinding it she began poking the soft pad of her forefinger with one of the sharp ends.
House’s head cocked to one side for a moment and a small smile crept over his face. His voice was even quieter than usual, evidence of the emotional state he was attempting to hide. “What you really mean is how the hell did I manage to get my shit together enough to come in today when my big, bad employee had me sucking my thumb and peeing my pants yesterday.”
Cuddy waited a fraction of a second too long before answer, letting House know that his response had left her feeling off balance. “Something like that,” she finally replied with a wry smile.
“Wilson tells me you suspended Foreman.”
She detected something in his tone of voice-a hint of irritation, perhaps?
“He’s lucky I didn’t fire him,” she said, wondering where this particular verbal dance was headed. Her interest piqued, she leaned forward in her chair, subconsciously bending the paperclip into a new and ever more useless shape.
“Un-suspend him,” said House unexpectedly.
“What?” asked Cuddy. “No. No way.”
“Yes. Yes way,” said House. His eyes locked onto hers and she recognized that immoveable stubbornness at work. She huffed in exasperation.
“House, the man lost it completely-he was totally unprofessional, and he endangered your wellbeing. Next time, he might become violent. Why the hell would you want me to ‘un-suspend’ him?”
House, who rarely made eye contact anymore, continuing to look her squarely in the eye.
“Because I need him.”
Startled, Cuddy fell back in her chair, the leather smacking her in the spine.
“Oh, come on,” she said, dropping the paperclip with a tiny clatter onto the wood of her desk. “He can’t be that good. All he ever does is argue with you, and roll his eyes every time you suggest something.”
House stared her down. “That’s why I need him,” House said. “I need someone to challenge me-keep me grounded.”
It had never dawned on Cuddy before that House might have any idea which role each of his minions actually played in the diagnostic process. To her surprise, this was turning into an interesting conversation.
“I’ll challenge you,” she counter-offered. She really didn’t want Foreman anywhere near House until his suspension was up, not the least because she’d never hear the end of it from Wilson, who had undoubtedly spent the night fuming over Foreman’s behavior.
“Not good enough,” said House. “I need someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”
Ouch. As glad as she was to have House occasionally returning to what passed for normal, she’d forgotten how sharp his tongue was and how ruthlessly he could wield it. Honesty seemed the best response.
“Hey, that hurt,” she said. In the past, she would never have dared let him know that his barbs had struck home, but now, he’d suffered enough and perhaps he deserved the truth, deserved to be told when he hurt someone else.
He scanned her face and his eyes softened.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice dropping into a low rasp. “Old habits, etc.”
“Forgiven,” said Cuddy affectionately. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Sure. But what about Foreman?”
Cuddy was puzzled. Other than his seemingly flimsy excuse about Foreman’s place on the team, why would House have any interest in being exposed to a man who just yesterday had reduced him to a blubbering mess on the floor? And if Foreman was so important to House, then why was he surreptitiously trying to help find him another job?
“Why, House? Why not let him go through his suspension and learn his lesson?”
Sometimes House surprised her, and this was one of those times.
“He’s already learned it,” replied House, tilted his head to one side and eyeing her through hooded lids. “The minute he apologized-something he never does-it was apparent that he’d ‘learned his lesson,’ as you so quaintly put it. He feels bad enough. Let him come back.”
Quietly stunned that House could be so magnanimous, she took a moment to think it over. On one level, what House said was logical and made sense. On another, she was still furious with Foreman and wanted to see him punished for what he did. So she did what she always did. She offered a compromise.
“How about part-time?” she offered as a compromise. “He works mornings, and takes off the afternoons for his therapy?” Mornings made the most sense, she thought, as House had more energy then and often left, exhausted, by mid-afternoon. Then Foreman could be of the most use. No, that’s no good, she thought suddenly, kicking herself for speaking before she’d thought it through. That means he’s also have the most exposure to House. Maybe better to have him there when House wasn’t. She searched House’s battle-scarred face for a response.
She could tell this was a difficult decision for him. He seemed to be pondering whether or not he should push her to let Foreman back full-time. Or perhaps he was wondering how well he’d do around the man who had frightened him so badly the day before. After a moment, his shoulders dropped and all the fight seemed to go out of him.
“Make it Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he said quietly, referring to his own days off. “I never said I wanted to see him. I just…” he let the sentence dangle for a moment as he figured out how to end it. Instead, he chose to start a new sentence altogether. “What he did-I expected it. Foreman’s not good at understanding things. He grabs hold of an idea-such as believing that all I am is an arrogant ass-and he holds on for dear life. He’s had to fight the world to get where he is, and fighting is all he really knows. Now there’s something he can’t fight-he can’t fight what Thompson did to all our lives or how his assumptions about me have been, shall we say, distorted. That internal conflict was bound to break out sooner or later. I don’t think he should be punished too much for doing something he couldn’t help.”
Cuddy stared at House in shock. She’d always known he was a keen judge of human nature, but she’d never heard him articulate his internal thinking before.
“I-I thought you hated psychology,” she said, finally.
A tight smile graced his face. “I do,” he replied. “I hate the psychobabbly crap that gets taught as psychology-the kind of nonsense that turns into those idiotic self-help books.”
“Then how…?”
“Just because I hate all the psychobabble doesn’t mean I don’t try to understand what makes people tick. Plus,” he admitted almost reluctantly, “Jacey Liu has shown me that not all psychology is nonsense. Sometimes it can be practical… even logical.”
It suddenly dawned on Cuddy that many of House’s most egregious pranks over the years had possibly been his own versions of psychology experiments-testing people to see what they’d do under duress, testing his own theories of human behavior in a live lab setting.
She shook the cobwebs out of her head and tried to get back to the topic at hand.
“Deal,” she said unexpectedly. “Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
It took House a minute to remember what she was referring to. Oh, yes. Foreman coming in on his own days off.
“Deal,” he said, sighing slightly in relief.
* * * *
Around the same time House was having his conversation with Cuddy, Devi entered Tritter’s room to check on her patient. After Chase had left House’s duplex the night before, he had returned to work, finding Devi pouring over journals in search of the diagnosis. He and Devi had stayed late into the night, probing their minds, textbooks and computers for an answer to Tritter’s symptoms. Both of them were beginning to be concerned, not just about Tritter’s worsening physical condition but also about his mental stability. As his body got weaker and weaker, Tritter got more and more agitated. His innate paranoia had become an almost constant state of mind. They’d called in a psych referral, but there’d been some trouble scheduling Tritter for an appointment.
Around 10 a.m., Devi checked in on him. She found him sitting up in bed, trying to watch television, although with his increasingly pronounced nystagmus, focusing his eyes on anything for very long was difficult.
“Good morning, Mr. Tritter. How are you feeling today?”
Suddenly, Tritter turned toward her, his face distorted with fury.
“How do you think I’m doing? You people are purposely messing with me, withholding treatment and making me worse. And it’s all the fault of that drug-addicted junkie you work for! It’s just as I suspected-he’s trying to get even with me. I won’t let him get away with it. I’ll make sure of it!”
Shocked, Devi took a step back.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Tritter. I-I don’t know what else to say to you, but you’re wrong.”
“I won’t stand for it,” yelled Tritter. “I won’t stand for it!”
Shaken, Devi turned and stormed from the room.
As soon as she left, Tritter called the Princeton police department, asking to speak to Stanley Skelton.
“Stan, it’s Michael Tritter. I need a favor.”
* * * *
By the end of the day Foreman had his meltdown, Rainie and Evan had interviewed a couple dozen people willing to talk about what had happened when they crossed paths with Michael Tritter. Eighteen of the twenty-four had eventually gone to prison for various relatively minor reasons, and the remaining six were shy and wary. As with Amberson, most of them responded only because of Rainie’s presence.
Once their interviews were collected, organized and entered into Rainie’s laptop, Evan printed out three copies-one for him, which he planned to take to work, along with the interview recordings, for safe-keeping; one for Rainie; and one to use as blackmail, if needed.
“Well, we’ve done it,” he said as he tucked the sheaf of papers into his knapsack. “Let’s hope the guy’s smart enough not to force us to use this against him.”
“Smart is not necessarily the adjective I’d use to describe Michael Tritter,” said Rainie, sounding more like her old, self-reliant, sharp-as-a-tack self. “Conniving, vindictive, devious, yes. Smart… not really.”
Hearing her talk this way reminded Evan of the years they’d shared, as students, as journalists and as friends, before everything went so very wrong, before Rainie had the life and personality literally beaten out of her. The image of an unsullied Rainie Adler appeared in his mind, her quick wit and sharp observations expanding his view of humanity and filling his life with warmth and humor. So he simply smiled. A nostalgic, poignant smile.
Taken aback, Rainie stared at him, bewildered. “What?” she asked. “Why do you look like that?”
Evan just smiled some more, his eyes soft… and perhaps a little moist. “Aw, punkin,” he said, finally. “I’ve missed you so much.” He wanted to reach out and hug her, but he’d learned, painfully, that the new Rainie didn’t respond well to unexpected physical contact.
Usually perceptive about the motivations of the people around her, Rainie wasn’t nearly as good at deciphering other people’s reactions to her.
“What? I don’t get it.”
Evan’s grin got bigger. “It’s okay, punkin. It’s okay. I’m just happy to have you back in my life.”
Rainie knew she wasn’t going to be able to figure this out, and she was smart enough to let it drop. If Evan was happy to be with her, if something she’d said or done meant something special to him, then she was okay with that.
* * * *
Devi stomped back into the conference room, where she found Chase studiously involved in a ancient textbook. He glanced up when she came in, his eyes narrowing when he saw her annoyed expression.
“You okay?”
“Yes. I guess so,” she replied shakily, not entirely sure if it was true. For some reason, she hesitated telling him how much Tritter had upset her, so she deflected onto a different topic. “It’s just…” she tilted her head toward House’s office. “I-I didn’t expect to see him here today.”
Seemingly unconcerned, Chase shrugged and tipped back in his chair, his eyes flickering over her face when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“He’s full of surprises,” Chase said nonchalantly.
She smiled an unconvincing smile. “I figured that out almost as soon as I started working for him.”
Chase went in for the kill. “So… how’s Tritter?”
This time, he stared intently, taking in the way she blanched at his question. She realized she’d underestimated him; he’d seen right through her. There were moments when his ability to pick up on people’s feeling was almost as uncanny as House’s. She gave up the pretense. “I don’t know what to say. He seems completely paranoid,” she admitted. “He blames Dr. House for the fact that we haven’t solved his case yet. I-it’s kind of frightening.”
Suddenly, Chase jumped up and headed for the door.
“I should have done this sooner,” he said in transit. “Cuddy needs to know what’s going on. I-I can’t let Tritter do anything that might upset House. After yesterday… after yesterday, I… I feel like I’ve got to be more proactive. And Tritter’s bad news. He’s dangerous, and I don’t trust him.”
They sprinted down the hall, Chase a few paces ahead of Devi. She struggled to keep up. But when they got to Cuddy’s office, they found it empty.
“Where’s Dr. Cuddy?” Chase asked Jane Montgomery, Cuddy’s assistant. “It’s important.”
Jane looked perturbed.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Chase. She’s out of the building-meeting with a donor. She won’t be back until late afternoon.”
“We need to talk to her now. Can you call her cell?”
“I suppose so. She does hate to be disturbed when she’s with a donor. You’re sure it’s important?”
Chase nodded vigorously. “Yes. It’s urgent.”
After Jane got Cuddy on the phone, Chase told her they had some concerns about House’s patient, without going into detail.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can get away,” she promised.
“Thanks, Dr. Cuddy,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
...Chapter 9