darkdreamer

Okay, guys, here's chapter 40 :) I particularly enjoyed writing this one :) I hope you all like reading it as much :P *Hugs* DoS

Title: Used
Beta:

misanthropicobs
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, Wilson/OFC, and possible future House/Cuddy, not in this fic though :P
Warnings: implied and explicit 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 40
Stronger

The apartment fell into silence as Wilson left the room to go and talk to Jenna. For a long time, the only sound in the room was House’s ragged, uneven breathing as he struggled to control the tears and tremors that shook him in the aftermath of his ordeal. He was in a state of shock, his mind replaying again and again the re-enactment of his worst nightmares.

Cuddy stayed with him on the couch for over an hour… just holding him. She wrapped one arm around him, holding him protectively close to her, the fingers of the other hand gently stroking through his hair in a slow, rhythmic motion that she hoped he found comforting. He wasn’t pulling away, completely unresisting – but in his traumatized state, Cuddy was afraid he might not be able to resist.

House was huddled under the blanket, trembling and shaken from the trauma of the terrorization to which he had willingly subjected himself. He clung to Cuddy desperately, his cold, white-knuckled fingers locked onto the rumpled fabric of her blouse, as she murmured soothing, reassuring words in his ear and tried to calm him.

“It’s all right, House. You’re safe. He’s gone, and you’re completely safe.” She kept her voice soft and even, repeating her words over and over in the hopes that eventually, they would get through.

House just shook his head in hopeless denial, his body shaking with silent sobs as he buried his face in her shoulder. Cuddy’s eyes welled with tears, overwhelmed when faced with the intensity of his brokenness and despair. House’s tears broke her – because she had never thought she’d see anything that could make him cry.

The point of the plan had been to get the evidence they needed to give House closure – but Cuddy was afraid that the damage done in the process might not be worth it.

Cuddy stopped talking as her own silent tears began to trail down her face, and just held House, rocking slightly as she tried to make him feel safe and secure again – knowing even as she did so that her paltry efforts were a meager offering in comparison to what he was suffering. A few hugs and reassuring words could not undo the savage brutality that so devastated his body and spirit.

However, eventually, his panic began to fade into dull acceptance. Gradually, House’s tremors subsided, and his quiet, breathless sobs gave way to a heavy silence. Although he was quiet and still, however, his body remained tense against hers. Cuddy knew that, despite the fact that his tears had ceased, House’s mind was still consumed with recent memories of his devastating encounter with Tritter.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with tears. He did not lift his head from her shoulder as he whispered a quiet, fearful question.

“What if this doesn’t work?”

The same question was circling through Cuddy’s mind as well, but she didn’t think it was wise to let House know that. She kept her voice firm and certain as she replied, “It already has. We got the evidence we need, House. There’s no way he can deny what he did now. We’ve won.”

House shook his head, raising it to look her in the eye. His expression was slack with exhaustion, flat with a dull resignation, but there was no mistaking the dread in his expressive blue eyes as they met hers.

“We won’t have won until he’s in prison,” he pointed out softly. “As long as he’s free, he can… can come after us.” He hesitated, drawing in a deep breath in preparation to continue, but then looked away, shaking his head slightly in defeat.

Although House’s obvious attitude of hopelessness and resignation was deeply troubling to her, Cuddy couldn’t argue the disturbing truth of his words. She just looked at him, her hands still holding his arms, steadying him, as she waited patiently for him to go on – because it was quite clear there was more he wanted to say.

The problem seemed to be finding the strength to say it.

At last, House poured out his fears in a trembling rush, barely restrained panic in his eyes. “What if… what if this Detective Benson can’t actually help us? What if Tritter manages to get the evidence thrown out on a technicality? It happens all the time, and that’s in ordinary legal proceedings – when a respected detective on the police force doesn’t have a major personal stake in the case,” he pointed out. “And we have no idea what kind of connections he has… who his friends are. If we go through with all this – openly accuse him – and he’s acquitted anyway… then… then…”

“House…” Cuddy’s voice was soft, soothing, as she interrupted his breathless rant. She slowly, gently ran her hands up and down his arms, intently holding his gaze. “… breathe. Okay? We have rock solid evidence. There is no way that he can deny what happened. It’s right there on tape – him, confessing to what he did to you, and threatening you again. Combined with your testimony…” She shook her head, giving him an encouraging, triumphant smile. “…House… we can’t lose!”

House’s voice was low and uncertain when he replied with an apologetic grimace. “Um… about that. My testimony.” He looked away from her puzzled frown, biting the edge of his lip as he drew in a slow, shaky breath. “I’m… I’m not so sure I can do that. Face him. In court. Tell everyone what… what he did, while he’s… s-sitting right there. Watching me…”

He flinched slightly when her hand rose to cup his cheek, but she gently turned his face toward her, honesty and compassion in her eyes. “House… you can do it.” She paused, regarding him with a sort of awed affection. “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

House was silent, lowering his gaze, swallowing hard, and Cuddy’s heart ached when she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

It was painfully obvious: Tritter’s brutality had torn his dignity and self-worth to shreds. He had been struggling to rebuild it, fighting to find the strength to stand up for himself again, and tonight’s traumatic re-enactment had left him emotionally right back where he’d been immediately after the rape – broken and devastated on the ground at Tritter’s feet.

House was quiet for so long that when he finally spoke again, it took Cuddy by surprise. He was staring blankly into the empty space in front of him, his mind replaying images of his own debasement at Tritter’s hands. His voice was a hoarse, haunted whisper that tore at her heart with his simple, pain-filled words.

“He touched me again.”

Thinking she understood where he was going with this – that he just needed to let out the horror of what had happened – Cuddy’s hand slid down House’s arm to clasp his hand, squeezing it gently in an attempt to bring his focus back to the safety of the present moment, without interrupting his much needed outlet.

“I know,” she softly acknowledged.

“He… put his hands… all over me.” House visibly suppressed a shudder, eyes downcast in shame over the hushed, humiliated words. “He… wanted to make sure I knew that he could… could do anything he wanted to do to me. That’s why he… made me… get on my knees... even though he didn’t actually want me to… didn’t… make me…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, raising thumb and forefinger to press against his eyes as if trying to push the tears back into them and hold them there.

Cuddy bit her lip, a pained expression on her face as she raised a hand to run gently through the hair at the back of his neck. There were no words she could offer that would make any of this any better, she knew. All she could do was listen to whatever House needed to say.

At last, he looked up at her again through lowered eyes. “If he had wanted me to… if he’d made me…” he confessed softly. “I would have. I… I’m not strong, Cuddy. I’m not… not brave.” A tear slid down his cheek as he shook his head. “I didn’t fight him. I didn’t resist at all. I didn’t even tell him not to touch me. I just… just took it like the good little bitch I am.” He looked up at her again, anguished eyes full of shame and self-disgust before they dropped to his lap again. “You think I can stand up to him in court and tell the world what he did?”

“You did fight him, House. You were fighting him the whole time he was here. You have to see that!” Cuddy insisted, voice trembling with the passion of her plea. “House… look at me!”

He reluctantly met her eyes, his mouth set in a taut line as he struggled to repress the emotions overwhelming him.

“You fought him in the best way you possibly could, House, and you’re still fighting him – every moment! Physically fighting him, when he was holding a gun to your head – resisting him tonight, when you knew there was no way you could have physically overpowered him – that wouldn’t have been courage, House. That’s not strength. That’s stupidity.”

Cuddy paused, making sure he was focused on her before stating slowly, emphatically, “That would have been suicide – and you’re smart enough to know that, House. If you tried to physically fight him, House... he would have killed you.” She paused a moment, a sudden clarity of understanding in her eyes as she continued softly, “And it would have been an easy way out.”

House frowned, startled and a little confused by her words.

“It’d be easier than struggling every day to deal with the effects of what he did to you – than waiting until you have the chance to stand up to him in open court and tell the world what he did while he watches and does everything in his power to intimidate you out of telling the truth.” She nodded, repeating, “It’d be easier… and it’d be the coward’s way out. But you… you’re too good for that, House. You’re a better man than that.”

Cuddy’s eyes shone with pride for him, her jaw set in stubborn determination as her hand slid around from the back of his head to his face, her thumb tracing gently across his lips as a soft, admiring smile spread slowly across her face.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, he’s not beaten you that much yet – and he’s not going to. You’re going to beat him – because you’re going to live, House – and that’s the opposite of what he wants. He wants to destroy you, House; he’s made it his goal from the start in all of this – but you used your mind, and your skills to outsmart him, since you couldn’t physically overpower him… and that means that you’re going to win.”

House looked away, but not before Cuddy caught a spark of hope amidst the former certainty of defeat she’d seen in his expression.

“Look at me.”

Her voice was stern, unyielding, as she tilted his face back toward her. When he looked at her again, her face bore her best look of maternal authority as she held his gaze intently, refusing to let him look away as she spoke in a firm, clear voice that left no room for argument.

“You are incredibly strong, House – and unbelievably brave. I couldn’t have done what you did tonight. I don’t know a single other person who could have. It took more courage and… and balls than that bastard could ever dream of having! And that’s why you are going to win this!” Cuddy laughed softly, shaking her head in affectionate admiration as she concluded, “Tritter had no idea who he was messing with when he took on Gregory House.”

House stared at her for a long moment, awe and a sort of shy wonder in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, biting his lip uncertainly. He clearly wanted to respond, but seemed unable to find the words, or to get them out through the powerful emotions that filled him with her moving, inspiring words.

Sensing his awkwardness and wanting to alleviate it, Cuddy put her arms around him and pulled him back into her embrace, eliminating the expectation of further conversation. House readily accepted the gesture, relaxing against her and allowing her to hold him, his eyes closed, his forehead resting against her shoulder.

He barely breathed out his response, but Cuddy heard it, and her heart soared with hope at the gratitude and sheer relief she heard in his voice.

“Thank you.”

TBC...