darkdreamer

Hi, all, hope you enjoy this latest update of Used -- I found it a bit emotional, but it's totally safe as far as the violence, etc., of the other chapters... looking forward to your thoughts on the story :)

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Used
Beta:

zeppomarx
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, eventual Wilson/OFC, and possible House/Cuddy
Warnings: implied non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: House endures the unimaginable...will his friends be able to deal with it? Will he be able to deal with it? A story about damaged human beings, and ultimately recovery and healing

Chapter 32
Safe

House just stood there, listening to the eerie silence that filled the deserted parking garage, once the sound of Tritter’s car had vanished. His thoughts were racing, screaming at him to get out of sight, get out of the parking garage, before Tritter changed his mind and came back – and yet at the same time, he felt strangely calm… numb.

He took a half-hearted, stumbling step, only to collapse forward onto his knees on the floor, retching violently. The force of the sudden illness in combination with blood loss and all the other trauma nearly made him black out. As he struggled for consciousness, some part of his mind was aware, in spite of his pain and shock, that if he gave in to those things now, he might not live through this.

He opened his eyes, fighting to see past the colored sparks of light that obscured his vision. All at once, his gaze fell upon something he have never expected – or wanted – to see again.

His cane.

He hadn’t noticed when Tritter had tossed it out of the car at his feet – a final, ironic gesture of false mercy, to help the cripple make his way to the help he needed to survive.

House didn’t want to touch it. The thought of it made him feel like he was going to vomit again – but he had no choice. His subconscious was working to preserve his life, although in that moment he was not aware of any conscious thought. Mentally numb, he was in a quiet state of shock, and yet a part of him knew that without the cane he now found abhorrent, he’d never make it up the stairs into the hospital.

The hospital… help… A swift surge of unexpected hope went through him, as he remembered. Wilson… Wilson’s here, working late…

His battered wrist ached as he clutched the handle of the cane, steadying it against the floor with an extreme effort, and dragging his weary, abused body up off the floor with even greater difficulty. Every breath was a struggle, every movement agony, as he started moving slowly toward the stairs across the parking garage.

What felt like an hour later, he finally reached the base of the stairs. He looked up at the series of twelve-inch high obstacles before him. Each step might as well have been a small mountain. He sank down on the first step, his entire body shaking with the effort of crossing the garage in the first place. He leaned forward, resting his head on the step in front of him, gasping in deep breaths of cool air in an effort not to throw up again.

His stomach clenched, heavy with a cold, empty sensation of dread. He crossed his arms across his torso again, shivering with cold and shock as his mind filled with vivid images of the past few hours. The sound of a distant car engine drew his head up swiftly, eyes wide and panicked as he looked over his shoulder for any sign of danger.

He’s coming back… He changed his mind… He’s going to kill me… or… or worse… He’s going to take me back there and… and…

Blind terror drove House to grasp the banister, ignoring the pain that tore through his bruised, torn wrists as they were forced to support his weight. He was barely on his feet before he pitched forward onto the stairs again, in too much pain to maintain his balance without his cane. His trembling hand fumbled to grasp it, bracing it against the second step and, between the cane and the banister, finally finding his footing.

Please, please, no… no, don’t let him find me, don’t let him come back… Just let me get inside, just let me get to Wilson, please…

House’s desperate, panicked mind formed silent prayers to a God whose existence he had long denied.

This was no time for taking chances.

His shaking hand found its way into his pocket, closing tightly around the tiny orange bottle inside. When he finally managed to get the lid off, he shook two pills into his palm, then swiftly swallowed them, unexpectedly fighting a gag reflex that he hadn’t had in years.

Bracing himself to ignore the pain, knowing only that he had to get to lights, people, and some semblance of safety, House fought his way slowly and painfully to the top of the stairs. Once there, he clung to the handle of the door to hold himself up, gasping for breath, fighting just to stay on his feet – because he knew that if he went down this time, he might not be able to get up again.

He stayed there for a long time, trapped between two separate terrors – the fear of being followed by Tritter and dragged back to a repeat performance of the hell he had experienced already that night; and the fear of running into other people in the halls of PPTH, and not being able to hide what had happened to him.

Wilson… if I can just get to Wilson…

Ultimately, it was an easy decision.

Blocking out the images of Tritter, just behind him, as well as the fear of who he might run into in the halls, House focused his mind on Wilson, picturing the path to his office, counting the steps until he would reach safety.

If I can just get there… just get to his office… I’ll be okay… everything will be okay…

He tried to make himself believe it, tried not to think about the fact that nothing would ever be okay again.

Wilson… if I can just get to Wilson…

And then, the door was within his grasp. He pushed it open with a trembling hand… and the soft, warm light from Wilson’s desk lamp seemed to dispel a bit of the cold settled in the pit of his stomach. He felt the tremors intensify as a sense of relief washed over him, and he stepped into the place that was, and had been for so long… his sanctuary.

It was over… and he was safe…

*****************************

“House! House, it’s okay… it’s okay, it’s over… you’re safe… you’re safe now…”

Wilson’s soft, intent voice broke through House’s memories, and he gradually returned to the reality of the moment. He realized with great embarrassment that he was quietly sobbing, clinging to someone who was crouched just in front of him – Wilson – on the floor on his knees in the corner of his office.

And they were not alone.

“I told you to go! Seriously, is he right? Are you all idiots? Just get out of here!”

He heard Cuddy’s voice, angry and agitated, and House looked up to see his team standing there, gaping with varying degrees of shock, horror, and disbelief on their faces. With a quiet groan, he lowered his head, suddenly grateful for Wilson’s position between him and the rest of the room, as well as for the cautious but firm grip of Wilson’s hands on his arms, steadying him, reassuring him.

“It’s all right,” Wilson murmured, his hand running soothingly up and down House’s arm. “You’re okay… you’re okay…”

House looked up at him sharply, startled by the thick, shaky sound of Wilson’s voice – and was stunned to see the tears that streaked Wilson’s face. The younger man did not seem to have even noticed that he was crying. His dark eyes were soft with anguished sympathy, and… with something else, something House couldn’t quite identify.

Finally, he looked away, focusing on Wilson’s hands… and realizing that for the first time since the attack, the touch of a man’s hand was not driving him into a fit of terror. Momentarily forgetting his caution in his desire to comfort, Wilson slipped an arm around House’s shoulders, further shielding him from the invasive eyes of the others – and House found that the contact was comforting.

“House… are you okay?”

House just stared up at him in quiet wonder, startled by the depth of Wilson’s concern.

Startled… and deeply moved.

“All I did was say his name.” Foreman sounded distressed, shaking his head as he looked at Cuddy, anxious and uncertain. “I… I don’t know what happened. He just… freaked out…”

“What’s the matter with him?” Chase asked, clearly concerned, not taking his eyes off House.

Cameron just stood there, staring in horror.

“For the last time, all of you, out!” Cuddy raised her voice nearly to a yell. “This is none of your business!”

Slowly, reluctantly, they began to file out of the office, lingering, clearly hoping for answers of some kind, but knowing better than to push Cuddy any farther. They were only a few yards down the hall, talking in hushed, curious voices, when Cuddy let out a heavy sigh and stepped out into the hall after them.

“Stop where you are,” she ordered sharply. “You’re not going anywhere. Stay right here until I get back.”

They stopped, waiting expectantly for her in the hall. Cuddy stepped back into the office, closing the door before directing her attention to a much calmer House.

“How do you want to handle this? What do you want me to tell them? Anything?”

Her voice was gentle, patient, making it clear that whatever he decided, she was willing to go along with his choice. This was his secret, to conceal or reveal in whatever way made him least uncomfortable.

House was silent for a long moment, raising a hand to cover his face as he drew in a deep breath. Finally he looked up at Cuddy, resignation mingling with shame in his eyes.

“The… the truth is better than… whatever rumors will spread if you don’t tell them anything. And… at this point they… they must know that something’s… very wrong here.”

The disgust and humiliation in his voice was barely veiled by self-deprecating humor. It was clear that he didn’t want his team to know anything about what had happened to him. But that was no longer an option.

“Are you sure?” Wilson asked him gently, and House saw a tenderness and compassion in his eyes that brought him dangerously close to tears again. “You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“Yes I do,” House replied with a heavy sigh. “They may be idiots… but they’re not stupid. They haven’t spent the last three years working under me for nothing. They’ll figure it out. I’d… I’d rather they didn’t feel the need to try. This way, we can tell them… just enough. Tell them what happened, but… not who.”

Cuddy nodded, understanding, and stepped out into the hall. As the door slowly closed behind her, House heard her voice drifting away. “All right. All three of you. My office, now…”

Left alone, House and Wilson were both silent for a long moment. House felt a tremendous sense of relief, his tense shoulders slumping, as the need to hold up the façade of control disappeared. Suddenly, with a clarity he had not experienced in a long time, House knew:

This was Wilson… and he was safe.

He could be open, honest, allow his fears and uncertainties to show, without fear of having them thrown in his face later or used against him. He could trust him.

He already did.

“House,” Wilson began in a tentative, apologetic voice, “this might not be a good time, and… I know you’re kind of shaken up right now… but… I’ve been thinking, while you’ve been…”

“Huddling on the floor like a scared kitten?” House supplied helpfully, in a tone of mild disgust at his own behavior.

Wilson grimaced. “I was going to say… packing.” He shrugged. “I just… I don’t think this is right. You shouldn’t have to do this…”

“And your sweet, innocent little patients shouldn’t have to die ugly deaths in pain,” House shot back. “Things happen, and sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

“But you do have a choice, House,” Wilson insisted. “By the time we get back to the apartment, we’re going to have security cameras, an alarm system, emergency phones… You’re never going to be completely alone, not until Tritter’s taken care of. You don’t have to be afraid of him, House. He won’t be able to get to you…”

“He’ll find a way.”

“If he tries,” Wilson pointed out in a quiet, intent voice, “all he’ll do is give us evidence against him. You’ll have access to help within seconds of his trying anything, House. You’ll be safe – I promise you. But… but you can’t let him do this to you. You can’t let him… take the one thing you’ve got left. You can’t let him… destroy who you are.”

House didn’t respond. He couldn’t argue with Wilson; he knew that quitting would destroy him – as Tritter had no doubt intended. He also knew that if he did anything to cross Tritter, the man would definitely try to get back at him.

The question was… would he succeed?

“House… look at me.”

Reluctantly, House met Wilson’s gaze.

“You can’t tell me you want to do this.”

House rolled his eyes in frustration. “Of course I don’t want to do this…”

“Then don’t,” Wilson interrupted, and House looked him in the eye again, surprised by the simplicity of the statement. “House – I don’t care if I have to hire an armed guard to accompany you everywhere, 24/7. I am going to make sure that you are safe. I am not going to let him hurt you again.”

Despite his fears, Wilson detected a glimmer of hope in House’s eyes, and seized onto it, persisting while he had the opportunity.

“You’ve spent your entire life building this career, House. You love what you do, and what you’ve worked so hard to have. And you deserve to have it. We’re not going to let him take that away from you. If he can order you to quit your job, then he can order you to… to hop up and down on one foot while patting your head…” Wilson paused, his tone growing more serious as he went on, “… or… to meet him somewhere in the middle of the night alone, or… or to shoot me in my sleep…”

House’s eyes were wide with alarm. “I wouldn’t…”

“Not the point.” Wilson was quiet for a moment, holding House’s gaze as he continued in a quiet, intent voice. “Do you see what I’m telling you? It starts with your job – but where does it end? If you’re going to let him do this to you… honestly, House, what’s the point?” Wilson shook his head helplessly. “What’s the point of fighting for your life at all, if you’re just going to let that life be one more thing he can use to torture you?”

At a loss, House lowered his eyes, swallowing hard. There was nothing he could say to counter the logic of Wilson’s words.

His life in Tritter’s hands was not a life worth living.

“House,” Wilson insisted, waiting until House looked him in the eye again, “we can do this. We can beat him. And… and I can make sure that you’re safe until we do. Please. Please, just trust me on this, House. Can you do that? Do you trust me?”

House studied his face, his own expression solemn and searching. Finally, his face broke into a soft, tentative half-smile, as he nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “Yes. I do.”

TBC...