Hangman

PART ELEVEN
*
Chase walks down the corridor, his fists clenched and his eyes welling with tears.
“Stop it Robert,” he mutters to himself, “Just stop it. You knew that this would happen. You knew it! So just stop!” Chase quickens to a jog as the tears start to flow freely down his face. He crashes into the familiar glass door of House’s office. He pulls open the door, not really caring about what happens now.
He’s quit. House can go fuck himself and his job. And Wilson, while he’s at it Chase thinks. He pulls open the drawer to House’s desk, and throws out streams of paper. He does the same thing to each drawer, tearing the sheets in half and then tossing them in the air. He throws House’s precious tennis ball through the open window behind him. For a few minutes Chase lets his anger and hurt take control. He breaks, tears and snaps anything he can reach in House’s office. He can see House’s smug, cold face leering at him from every inch of the room.
“Fuck you House.” He shouts at the top of his voice, his chest raw, his breathing harsh. “Fuck you!”
He falls to his knees in the centre of the destruction. He doesn’t hear anything except the pounding of the blood in his ears. He doesn’t realise that he’s crying or that his hands are bleeding from smashing the screen of House’s computer. He just sits there and cries, loud noisy heart-breaking sobs that are more sound than tears. He rocks himself back and forth, his arms wrapped around himself. Chase doesn’t care, he *can’t* care what happens to him now. He’s lost everything that ever meant anything. After a while, Chase gets to his feet, his knees shaking, and leaves House’s office for the last time.
*
House has been on the roof. He hasn’t been crying because House *doesn’t* cry. He’s too dosed up on Vicodin to feel the pain and its full power, but he can’t block out the force of Wilson’s words, not matter how many little pills he takes. House sighs and runs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to think about who’s to blame. He knows, deep down, that it’s his fault. That he’s the one to blame for Chase’s tear-streaked face and Wilson’s constant flinching. He knows he’s to blame for Wilson’s marriage failure. He knows that it’s his fault that Chase is going down the same route as his mother. But because he’s House, he isn’t going to be the problem. This is only one person’s fault in House’s mind and he’s going to make sure that they pay.
*
Cameron and Foreman are the first to discover the state of House’s office. Cameron lets the door swing shut behind them as they survey the endless damage. House’s computer is on the floor, screen smashed and the mouse broken beyond repair. There’s Vicodin scattered all over the floor sheets of torn paperwork, broken CDs and even glass. Cameron steps over to the desk, hand drawn to her mouth whilst Foreman is trying hard not to step on anything that could break further. On the desk is a picture of House and Wilson.
Cameron has seen House take the picture out of his drawer when he feels bad, smile at it and then put it back. He’s never said anything about it, but he practically clawed it from her when she picked it up once.
“Don’t touch it.” House had said, his voice even and calm as usual but his eyes flashing, “You have your memories. Leave me with mine.”
And now Cameron is holding the two pieces in her hand. Doctor Wilson’s smiling face is on one half, House’s on the other. It’s been torn down the middle, the cut running through their touching shoulders, dividing them, separating them from each other. The picture’s been screwed up and then thrown down in a temper. Cameron pockets the two pieces, promising herself that she’ll fix it later.
She turns to survey the rest of the room. Foreman is picking up the books from the floor, stacking them in his arms. He refuses to look up at Cameron, too intent on clearing up and then getting out. Cameron stares at the walls for a few seconds before going to get some warm water and a cloth. She doubts that despite his love of board pens, House will appreciate the numerous “I QUIT”s scrawled across the glass in bright red ink.
*
Well, if Chase hadn’t already quit, she would have fired him by now. Cuddy stands with her hands on her hips and watches the med students clear up (they really have nothing better to do. If they’re going to be doctors, they should learn to deal with psychopaths). Foreman and Cameron are helping clear up too, or rather Cameron is scrubbing at the walls with a miserable, desperate expression on her face, and Foreman is looking through his tattered paperwork with a scowl.
“I always knew it.” He mutters. “Always knew he’d snap and lose it one day.”
“Shut up!” Cameron shouts, turning around, water dripping down her arm.
“If I hear one more word out of either of you, House can start looking for a new research team.” Cuddy tells them firmly, because she’s heard enough shouting for one day, and she wants some peace and quiet to process all that got screamed in her office, and she doesn’t need Foreman and Cameron at each other’s throats too. “Look, both of you, go and get some coffee. Take half an hour out.” She sighs. The two doctors get up and walk out.
There is blissful silence, apart from the sound of hard-working medical students, for almost a whole five minutes. Because five minutes later is when House comes down and sees what has happened to his office.
Cuddy doesn’t even have to turn around to know what House has entered the room. It’s like a wave of ice cold anger has swept through the air.
“If you were trying to redecorate my office, I think you got it wrong.” House says, but his tone is tight and angry. “Perhaps a little magnolia paint would have worked better.”
“House-” Cuddy is cut off by House angrily limping past to his desk. He reaches one of the drawers and rifles though the remains of the paper.
“Where is it? Where is it?!” Cuddy has never seems House look frantic but his face is flushing and his breathing is harsh. “Cuddy, where is my goddamn picture?”
“I don’t know.” She replies, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, because someone has to be reasonable here, and it isn’t going to be House. “We haven’t been through most of the office. Maybe your-”
“No.” House looks furious. “He won’t have just left it lying here… God, I’ll kill him!”
“No one is killing anyone House.” Cuddy snaps.
There’s a gentle tap at the door.
“What?!” Both House and Cuddy bark. Cameron comes around the door.
“I forgot my coat.” She says, looking first at Cuddy and then to House. “But I couldn’t help hearing about the picture?”
House lets out a small irritated noise and bangs his cane on the ground.
“Yes? What about it?” Cuddy says, trying to ignore House’s growling.
“I’ve got it.” Cameron whispers softly. House turns. His expression is blank but Cameron cringes inwardly away from it.
“Give it here.” He says, his hand trembling a little and outstretched. “Give it to me. Now.”
Cameron steps forward and pulls out the two pieces. She doesn’t look at House as she hands him the broken picture.
House’s face closes over. He doesn’t look angry any more, but he doesn’t look hurt either. Just blank and expressionless as he looks at the two crumpled pieces in his hand, and then he shoves them into his pocket.
“He will pay for this.” He says quietly, cold fury in his tone. And then he turns and walks out, and no one even tries to stop him.