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Thicker Than Water, Chapter Eight
by ParisWriter
Author's Note: Hey all! Sorry for the delay in new chapters. Life has been busy for both me and my beta, so it took a little longer than I wanted to get these two chapters up and running.
Now that that's out of the way... enjoy the story and feel free to leave any non-scathing reviews. As always, the prinicpal characters of the House universe do not belong to me.
Chapter Eight
House was beyond furious as he made his way down the second floor corridor toward the ICU. Rachel had come to him for treatment, and when he ordered it to be given to her she refused. Chase admitted he hadn't even tried to make her see how important it was that she get the prescribed treatment if she wanted to live, which wasn't all that big a surprise. House knew Chase lacked any sort of backbone unless the situation held some sort of incentive for him.
Wilson had said she would only last a couple of weeks. He was an oncologist, though. House, being a nephrologist, knew that she had only a few days - especially if her kidneys kept deteriorating at the alarming rate they were. Since she had been admitted, her BUN and creatinine levels had both gone up despite the drugs he put her on to maintain what little kidney function she had remaining.
He was still steaming when he came upon her room at the end of the hall. He reached out to grab the door handle just as it slid open and someone else stepped out.
"Doctor House, I presume?" he said, sliding the door closed behind him. House looked him over. He fit the description Chase had given him of Rachel's step-brother perfectly.
"You must be Brad."
"Yeah." Bradley nodded in the direction of the room he had just exited. "Is she going to be okay?"
"That's what I came here to determine," House told him, shooing him aside. Bradley backed up against the closed door, blocking his way. "I need to talk to her about her condition."
"It can wait," he insisted. "She's tired and needs to rest."
"I don't recall you being her doctor," House remarked.
"I'm her brother," Bradley stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "I look out for her. She's been through a lot the last couple of days."
"She's going to have to go through a hell of a lot more if you don't let me through," House threatened him. They stared at each other for a minute, neither of them backing down. When it became fully apparent that Bradley wasn't going to just move out of the way, House grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him aside.
The young man's protests became muted as House closed the door behind him, locking it to ensure privacy. Bradley's shouting had awakened Rachel, and she was sitting up as he approached the foot of her bed. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were only half-open as she slowly got herself into an upright position. For a nanosecond, House felt sorry for having disturbed her - then he remembered why he had come.
"Have you lost your mind?" he asked her, not bothering to sugar-coat his words.
"Hello to you, too," she said, suddenly awake with his outburst.
"You refused the dialysis."
"Yes."
"Have you lost your mind?" House repeated, this time a bit louder.
"Look, I--"
"You're dying, Rachel," he told her. "You're not getting any better, and without this treatment you're just going to get worse."
"You don't think I know that?" she asked him, the volume of her voice increasing as well.
"You're sick. Your mother sent you here so I could treat you," he argued. "How am I supposed to do that if you're dead?"
Rachel finally looked away from him, and House knew he had her beat. He waited for a moment to make sure she wasn't going to protest again, then started making his way toward the door.
"Have you ever actually known someone who's been on dialysis?"
Her voice stopped him in his tracks and he spun around in place before moving back to his previous position at the foot of her bed.
"I've have put many patients on dialysis," he informed her.
"But have you ever actually known someone on it?" she asked, turning to face him. House saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes and almost felt regretful about how brusque he was being with her.
"No," he admitted.
"The process takes several hours--"
"I know how it works."
"--and afterwards you're completely wiped out," she continued, talking over him. "You end up spending the rest of the day and the next day getting over it. Then, once you're finally starting to feel yourself again, you go back for your next treatment."
"I doubt it's that bad," House assured her, his voice almost sympathetic.
"I have known a lot of people on dialysis. Most of them have told me they would rather be dead than continue to be subjected to it. I've watched people who are vibrant and full of life turn into sluggish lay-abouts."
"Rachel--" he tried to calm her down, but she cut him off.
"The treatments drain the life out of them."
"Rachel--" House tried again, only to be cut off once more.
"I... don't... want it."
House was defeated. He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, tapping his cane on the floor as he looked anywhere but directly at her. Miriam had said she only had her looks, which meant she had his personality. Arguing with her was like arguing with himself - no matter how valid his points were, he was bound to lose due to sheer stubbornness on her part.
"The drugs we've been giving you... they aren't helping," he told her in a last-ditch effort to get her to change her mind. "You're still losing kidney function."
"How long?" she asked him.
He was surprised at how different she sounded. A moment ago she'd been loud and overbearing, and now she was quiet and resigned. He looked at her again and saw that she was no longer sitting up in bed, but lounging back on the pillows. She looked utterly exhausted, and in that moment he knew that the entire argument had been a show. She had to make him believe she was strong in order to get him to back off of his own arguments. The determination in her eyes had been replaced by a genuine flicker of fear.
"A few days, maybe a week at best." He heard his own voice growing quieter as he answered her question, softening the blow of the words.
"Well, then..."
House watched her as her voice trailed off and she looked away from him. He could almost literally see her thinking. A small smile crept over his face with the knowledge that she was about to change her mind and allow him to put her on dialysis in order to save her life. When she finally looked at him again, however, all traces of the fear he had just seen were gone from her eyes.
"You'd better hope for a miraculous recovery," she stated bluntly, "or else find me a new kidney."
Wilson took his time walking from House's office to Rachel's room, carefully formulating a speech in his head that wouldn't come across as too preachy or rehearsed. House had just told him about what happened when he tried to talk her into dialysis. During the course of his rant, he had said Rachel was 'being stupid' at least three times. Wilson knew that the more House said a patient was 'being stupid' - or something along those lines - the more frustrated and hopeless he was feeling about the case. Eventually he became tired of listening to him carry on and offered to go talk to her as well, suggesting that maybe his lack of bedside manner might have pushed her to act a bit too irrationally.
"Good luck," House had scoffed in reply, whichWilson knew was his twisted way of saying thank you.
Now he was standing outside Rachel's room, and he was no closer to knowing what exactly he was supposed to say to her. He had already decided against using the 'if you don't get this treatment you'll die' tactic, knowing that was the approach House had taken with her. All he could do was hope she wasn't as emotionally bereft as her father.
A glimpse through the window told him she was alone, which was a relief. After House had rudely pushed aside her step-brother and locked him out of the room, the last thing he needed was a confrontation with the family. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped into her room. She was lying in the bed, facing away from him, apparently asleep.
"Rachel?"
He moved toward the bed as he softly called her name, debating whether or not to wake her up. She'd been through a lot and probably needed the sleep, but he knew if he didn't somehow try to convince her to do the treatments she would likely die within a week. He stood over her, watching her sleep, and debated how to best wake her. After a bit of thought, he decided on the standard 'giving the shoulder a shake' method. His hand, however, only made it halfway to her shoulder when something caught his eye.
"What the...?" he whispered, bending slightly to get a closer look. She had pushed the covers off and her hospital gown was open slightly in the back, revealing an angry-looking rash. He reached out and ran his fingers gingerly over the rash, holding his breath as he prayed she didn't wake up to find him in the awkward situation he was in.
"James?"
Wilson let out the breath he was holding at the sound of her voice. Praying had never really worked for him before, so why should it suddenly start now? He removed his hand from her back as he stood, trying not to look guilty.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice strained. He cleared it as he clasped his hands together in front of him.
"Were you feeling me up?" Rachel asked him playfully as she slowly propped herself up into a half-sitting position in the bed. "Usually guys take me out to dinner before trying that."
"No, I... I just noticed you had a rash on your back," Wilson explained. He didn't know why he felt like he had been caught doing something illicit. He was a doctor, it was his job to examine things like rashes on patients. "How long have you had that?"
"A couple of weeks," she replied with a shrug. "It comes and it goes. It doesn't bother me, though, so I really haven't given it much thought. Why?"
"Because the rash may be linked to whatever is causing your headaches."
"I thought that the headaches were from the high blood pressure I was experiencing due to the kidney failure," she told him, now completely awake.
Wilson sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "That's what we thought, at first. Now, however, we believe that your kidney failure was actually caused by the amount of drugs you were taking in order to subvert the headaches."
"And by 'we,' you mean my father," she stated.
Wilson nodded, sighing again. "That's what he believes happened and I have to say I agree with him. You were taking an awful lot of pain medicine, and those kinds of medicine can be toxic to the kidneys in large doses."
"So in layman's terms, I did this to myself."
Wilson shook his head as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't your fault, Rachel," he assured her. "Yes, you took an awful lot of drugs and it ended up trashing your kidneys. But your doctor should have warned you about taking too much. Don't blame yourself for this."
"Wow," Rachel said with a bit of a smile, "you sound just like me when I talk to one of my patients for the first time. 'I know you're upset because you're dying, but it's not your fault.' I know the whole routine, James. I also know that no matter what you say to me, it's not going to change the fact that I'm dying."
"But you can change that," he told her.
"If this is where you tell me I should accept the dialysis treatments, save your breath."
"Rachel, you're--"
"I know I'm dying," she cut him off. "I'm not afraid of death. I've accepted it as a part of life. In my line of work, you have to."
"What is it you do?" he asked her. He wasn't even sure if House knew her occupation.
"I counsel terminally ill patients and bereaved families," she told him. "I probably go to more funerals in a month than most people do in their entire lives. Needless to say, the notion of death really doesn't bother me all that much any more."
"Surely you must be a little afraid," he coaxed, knowing that if he could get her to admit her fear he might be able to talk her into the treatments.
"Maybe," she conceded with a slight tilt of her head. "But to just constantly be in fear of dying... That's hardly living at all. I would much rather accept that I'm going to die and live out the rest of my days to their fullest."
Wilson was beginning to see that this was an argument he was not going to win no matter how hard he tried. He really hadn't wanted to have to try to guilt her into doing the treatments, but he saw no other choice.
"What about your father?" he asked.
"What about him?"
"He's worried about you," he told her.
"He actually said that?" she wondered.
"No, but I know him well enough to know that he is worried. He doesn't think we'll get you a new kidney in time due to your blood type."
"So?"
Wilson took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He hated using people's emotions to get his way, but she was leaving him no other choice.
"So why not do it for him?" he suggested. "Why not just agree to the treatments so that you'll live and your father won't end up hating himself because he couldn't save you?"
"Gregory House is not my father," she stated angrily. Wilson looked at her in disbelief and with a pang of regret saw tears forming in her eyes.
"Rachel, I--"
"Yes," she continued over him. "He is my father from a biological standpoint - but that's it. He wasn't there for my dance recitals growing up. He didn't take my picture when I made homecoming court. He missed every graduation I ever had. He didn't teach me how to ride a bike or play the piano or tie my shoes, even. He was never there for me when I needed him and he's only here for me now because I had to listen to my mother and go hunt him down. If he cares so damn much, then why are you the one here telling me how much my living will mean to him?"
Rachel looked away from him as the first tear fell, closing her eyes to keep any others from following suit. Wilson remained watching her, speechless. Apparently, Rachel did have the capacity to show actual human emotions, even though her father didn't. He now also knew that nothing short of a miracle would change her mind.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly as he stood up and made his way toward the door.
"James," she called after him and he stopped, looking back at her over his shoulder as he held the door open. "I don't completely hate him," she clarified. "I just have very strong personal beliefs about my own life and I would like it if they were respected."
Wilson nodded in agreement and left the room in a somber mood. Rachel Sutherfield was going to die, and there wasn't a damn thing any of them could do about it.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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