darkdreamer | Used, 42 :)

And... here's the second update of the day, for Used :) Hope you enjoy it, please let me know :) *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 42
Consequences

Wilson cast a cautious glance in House’s direction as he drove, trying not to appear overly concerned. They had an appointment with Detective Benson at Cuddy’s house in fifteen minutes, and Wilson had naturally expected that as the time drew nearer for him to tell his traumatic story yet again, House would gradually begin to show signs of panic.

Strangely, House was quiet and calm, staring blankly out the window as they made their way to Cuddy’s house.

Wilson wasn’t sure whether he should be worried or relieved.

It was six o’clock when they pulled into Cuddy’s driveway. Wilson knew that Benson would have been there for several hours already, having arrived while all possible objects of Tritter’s observation were at the hospital, and Cuddy’s house presumably unwatched. He walked around the car to help House out, more relieved than stung when House irritably pushed his helping hands away, opting instead to struggle to his feet on his own.

Cuddy let them in, moving away from the door to reveal Marcus Benson, seated on her sofa. Wilson couldn’t help but hover protectively at House’s side as the tall, stocky detective rose to his feet and moved toward House with a hand extended in greeting.

“Dr. House? I’m Detective Marcus Benson.”

House tensed, ignoring the offered hand in favor of a silent, grudging nod. He kept a wary distance between himself and Benson, to which the other man quickly caught on, returning to his seat on the sofa, and a less intimidating seated position.

“I’ve… been talking with Dr. Cuddy, and I’ve told her already. You’re making the right decision here, in coming forward. Your testimony, in combination with the evidence Ms. Leander turned in, is going to help us put away a monster who’s been abusing his power for years.”

“Yeah, I get it,” House nodded impatiently, his voice low and unusually subdued. “Can we just do this?”

“Right.” Benson’s voice became slightly gentler, a knowing expression in his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to record our conversation as evidence,” Benson explained as he took a hand-held tape recorder from his pocket. “Is that all right, Dr. House?”

Wilson frowned with concern as House hesitated, swallowing hard, but then nodded his consent. Benson started the tape recorder, speaking the date, time, and location of the interview into it before setting it down on the coffee table between them.

“Dr. House… just tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened on the evening of February 14^th, when you left the hospital.”

Wilson stood at a comfortable distance from House’s chair and a little behind it, though close enough to help if he was needed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, biting his lip, his brow furrowed in concern. His entire body was tensed for the breakdown that he half-expected. It had been hard enough for House to tell him and Cuddy about what had happened to him.

How was he possibly going to handle telling a complete stranger?

House’s voice was remarkably steady and calm as he quietly launched into his story.

“I was in the parking garage, headed for my motorcycle, when a car pulled up beside it. A dark blue sedan. Tritter and four other men got out and came toward me. I fought them, but they… overpowered me. They cuffed my hands and… put some kind of hood over my head so I couldn’t see them… what they were doing… where they were taking me.”

Wilson listened in amazement as House recounted the details of his abduction and assault, with barely a tremor in his voice, and only slight hesitation. His voice was unnaturally calm, controlled, betraying only the barest trace of emotion.

There were only a few small clues to hint at the emotional toll it was taking on him – the taut set of his shoulders… his white knuckles locked around the handle of his cane… his wide blue eyes focused firmly on the tape recorder on the coffee table, refusing to look up even for a moment.

“Wait.” Benson frowned slightly, confused by something House had said, and Wilson forced his attention back to the actual conversation. “I thought you said there were five men. But four of them actually assaulted you?”

“One of them stayed behind. I guess he’s the one who moved my bike, because my bike was parked outside my apartment when I got out of the hospital,” House explained. “Tritter and the other three took me in the car to a cabin. Tritter told me later that it was his. They… took my clothes off, and… chained me to a pipe and… and beat me with my cane. Then… Tritter… took me into a bedroom and… raped me. When he was finished, he took me back into the living room, and he… let the others have me…”

“Let them…?”

Benson’s voice was gently pressing for clarification. As painful as it was, House had to be as specific as possible.

“Let them… rape me. All of them… more than once…”

House’s voice was very soft, and Wilson was afraid that Benson would have to ask him to speak up if it got any softer. Although House stayed remarkably calm and steady, Wilson could clearly hear the muted anguish and shame beneath the surface of his words. All he wanted to do was to reach out and wrap his arms around his friend, to support him through this necessary ordeal. He settled for a subtle step forward, a gentle hand resting reassuringly on House’s shoulder.

To his relief, House didn’t shrug off the gesture, seemed in fact to take comfort and courage from it. His voice seemed to grow a little steadier, a little stronger, as he told the rest of his story, answering Benson’s questions simply and precisely, and with chilling detail.

By the time he was finished, Cuddy was crying without a sound, silent tears streaking her face. Wilson was glad that he was standing behind House, his own tears not visible, not able to further increase House’s shame and discomfort. To his credit, Benson remained calm, not visibly affected by House’s painful story, and Wilson wondered how many such horrors he had heard before in the course of his career.

When Benson was finally satisfied that he had a complete account of what had happened, he turned off the tape recorder, putting it away and giving House a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” he said with complete sincerity. “We’re going to get him, Dr. House. We should have a warrant within twenty-four hours. You’ll be safe now.”

“Thanks, Detective Benson,” Wilson spoke up when House did not seem inclined to respond, leaning forward to shake the man’s hand. “We’d better go. Be sure that anyone who’s tailing us is with us before you leave. It wouldn’t be a good thing if they saw you leave here.”

Benson nodded his agreement, and turned to a conversation with Cuddy as Wilson and House made their way out the door and to Wilson’s car. House didn’t speak a word the entire time, or during the drive home. To Wilson’s alarm, House didn’t even glance to the side as Wilson led him up the walkway to their door. He seemed to be in a sort of daze, completely lost in his own thoughts.

And the likely nature of those thoughts was what gave Wilson cause for alarm.

Once the door was locked securely behind them, Wilson turned to his friend, reaching out a cautious hand to touch his arm.

“House.” His urgent, pleading voice ached with concern. “Talk to me.”

House tensed under his hand, but did not pull away – though Wilson wasn’t entirely sure that meant he was okay with it. His eyes were wide and downcast, his jaw stubbornly set, though his mouth was trembling, as he whispered a simple response in a low, shaky voice.

“No.”

House slowly extricated his arm from Wilson’s hand, meeting his eyes for just a moment with something resembling regret, before going to his own bedroom and closing the door firmly – shutting Wilson out completely.

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

Jenna sat on her sofa, restlessly changing the channels with her remote control, unable to focus on anything that was on. She felt a cautious sense of relief, satisfied that she had done her job, and done it well; but the frustrating fact was that she knew she wouldn’t be able to truly relax until she was sure that Tritter was behind bars, and House and Wilson were truly safe.

No… don’t think about James… she warned herself sternly. That’s not a good place to go right now. He’s not ready, and he shouldn’t be distracted right now. He was right to stop it, before things went any further. He was right to…

A knock at her door drew her mercifully from the thoughts she couldn’t seem to avoid, and she rose to her feet with relief to answer it. Her eyes widened with surprise when she saw the person standing there.

“Andrew.” She stepped back to allow him in as she asked, “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

Her brother was silent as he walked past her into the living room, sitting down on her sofa and leaning forward with his head in his hands. “No, Jenna,” he replied, his voice a low moan. “Nothing is all right.”

A sense of alarm made her stomach tremble as she sat down beside him, reaching out to touch his arm, trying to pull it down and reveal his face to her.

“Andrew… what is it? What’s the matter? Did Tritter find out…?”

“No.” Andrew shook his head, looking up, and Jenna was surprised and worried to see tears in his eyes. “No… I wouldn’t… I mean…” He lowered his head again, shaking it in despair. “God, this can’t be happening…”

“Andrew, what? What’s happening?” Jenna persisted, frustrated and impatient.

“I didn’t know.” Andrew’s voice was pleading, trembling. “I didn’t know what was going to happen. He said… he told us…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off.

Jenna frowned, confused, though a cold, sick ache began in the pit of her stomach. “Who, Andrew?” she pressed, her voice barely over a whisper. “Who told you… what?”

Andrew looked up at her, his eyes damp with tears, stricken with shame. He was silent for a long moment, before finally whispering his response.

“Tritter.”

Though a part of her had already suspected the truth, Jenna’s eyes widened in horror. She shook her head, instinctively leaning back away from her brother.

“No…” she whispered. “Andrew… what did you do? Tell me you didn’t…”

“I didn’t hurt him!” Andrew insisted, voice desperate and trembling as he reached out to grasp her arms and pull her back toward him. “Jenna, I swear it! I never touched him! I didn’t know… had no idea what… what Tritter was going to do!”

Jenna was silent, her mind full of questions she was afraid to ask, waiting in breathless horror for her brother’s explanation.

“He told us… he said this House was… a drug dealer. Said he’d killed a cop, and got away with it, years ago. He said that the recent case was just another time he’d gotten away with his crimes… and he wanted to make sure he didn’t get away with it. He… he said he was just going to… to teach him a lesson. Rough him up a little, give him a… a warning…”

Jenna stared at him, stricken, desperately afraid of what he might tell her next.

“Jenna, I swear to you,” Andrew whispered, his panicked gaze intent on hers. “I never touched him. All I did was move the bike. Tritter said… to leave his bike outside his apartment. To let him know… that… that we knew where he lived.”

Andrew lowered his head, shoulders shaking with sobs, and he let go of Jenna to cover his mouth with his arm, visibly sick as he realized the impact that threat must have had on the victim of Tritter’s attack.

“Andrew… how could you… how could you keep quiet about this?” Jenna asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “How could you know what Tritter did to him… and not tell anyone?”

“I didn’t know!” Andrew insisted. “I thought they beat him up! I didn’t know what really happened until… until I watched that tape you sent me. I swear it, Jenna, if I’d known, I couldn’t have kept it a secret, but… but I had no idea! I didn’t know what he was going to do, Jenna! You have to believe me! There’s no way I would have helped him if I’d known…”

“How did you ever even get mixed up with a creep like Tritter?” Jenna demanded, her voice trembling with anger as she began to recover from the initial shock. “Andrew, what ever possessed you to even go along with this at all? Have you been working with Tritter for… how long?”

“No, it’s not like that,” he insisted. “I’ve never done anything like this before! I thought… I thought he was doing a good thing. Punishing a killer who got away with it. I didn’t know… Jenna, I’m so sorry!” Andrew looked up at her, a stricken expression in his eyes. “I had no idea he was so dangerous. But… if he finds out that you know about this… Jenna, you’re in a lot of danger.”

“Only for the next twenty-four hours or so,” Jenna replied with a dubious sigh. “Once we can get a warrant issued…”

“Someone else will have to look at the tape first,” Andrew informed her, his voice hushed and trembling slightly. “If I sign off on the tape, it’ll ruin your case later on.”

Jenna frowned, momentarily confused.

“You think Tritter’s not gonna rat out everyone who was involved at all, if he thinks it’ll help him get off easier?” Andrew’s voice was full of mingled fear and resignation. “I’m done, Jenna. If I don’t go to jail over this, I’ll at least lose my job. And once it comes out that I was involved, my signature on that tape will make it inadmissible.”

“Damn it,” Jenna whispered, looking away, biting her lip as she tried to think of a way around the problem.

“As far as I know, no one else in forensics has worked with Tritter,” Andrew assured her. “If you can get this to forensics right away and have someone else sign off on it, you can still get a warrant right away.” He paused, considering a moment before looking up at her, hope mingled with the guilt and fear in his eyes. “I can testify, if they want me to. I can tell them what I know about what happened.”

Jenna began to feel a shred of hope amidst the confusion and shock of what her brother had revealed. “That… might be a very good thing,” she conceded slowly, cautiously. “I’m sure they’ll want you to testify… and maybe you can get some leniency for doing so. But… I can’t guarantee that, Andrew. You might still have to pay for your part in what happened to Dr. House.”

Andrew met her eyes, a hollow, dejected look on his face. “If I have to,” he whispered, “then I have to. I hope I don’t, but… even if I do have to go to jail for this… I have to do everything I can to make it right."

TBC...

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From:

llumik.livejournal.com

Another excellent update. I was kinda expecting Andrew to be a complete and utter asshole and be one of the guys actually involved and maybe not even to feel sorry etc, but I'm just weird that way, always expecting the worst :P Your version was of course much better for House et al.

From:

Used, 42 :)

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