darkdreamer | Used, chapter 43

Hi, guys :) I've got another update for "Used" for you :) I really hope you like this one... I will warn you, this chapter has some disturbing content. Wish I could be more specific, but I really can't. :P Still, just be warned, not really for the squeamish -- though, really, if you're squeamish, I highly doubt that you're still reading this fic :P

Anyways, thanks so much, guys, for reading and commenting, looking forward to your thoughts on this particular chapter :)

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Used
Unbetaed, this chapter :P
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 43
Retribution

House closed the door to his bedroom quietly in a subconscious attempt to take some of the sting out of the gesture which was quite obviously meant to shut Wilson out completely. Under different circumstances, House wouldn’t have bothered to try to spare Wilson’s feelings.

Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have felt that he owed his friend his life.

Great. Guilt, on top of terror, disgust, and self-loathing. Just what I need.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t all that concerned with what House needed at the moment.

The door was barely closed when House felt a strong hand close over his mouth, a second arm that felt like an iron band wrapping around his torso and pinning his arms to his sides. House’s panicked cry was smothered by Tritter’s hand as he struggled uselessly against his unseen captor – until a familiar voice turned his insides to jelly, instantly overpowering his will to resist.

“You’re not gonna try anything stupid… like screaming, trying to fight me… are you, House? You just keep your mouth shut!”

House was spun roughly around and shoved hard into the wall, bringing him face-to-face with the object of his nightmares. His mouth went dry as Tritter reached out to slowly, deliberately lock the door, watching House closely as he did, drinking in the shock and dread in his wide, terrified eyes.

Panicked, House struggled, trying to escape Tritter’s restraining grasp, but the larger, stronger man just slammed him into the wall again. House gasped in pain at the impact to his battered tailbone, as Tritter’s hand locked around his throat, silencing the cry that rose in his throat.

“Don’t you dare pull away from me!” Tritter snarled. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he edged nearer, his hot breath against House’s ear sending a shudder of revulsion down his spine as he whispered a menacing challenge. “Move. Again.”

House immediately went still, shaking his head and closing his eyes, his trembling hands raised in front of him in an urgent, silent indication that he would not resist again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered desperately. “I’m sorry, please…”

“Stupid… little… bitch,” Tritter whispered, deliberately emphasizing the last word with a sadistic smirk. “Did you really think you could beat me? Did you think I wouldn’t know what you were up to, House? That I’d let you get away with lying to me? Deliberately going against my orders?”

House shook his head pleadingly, choking back a sob of panic. “Please… I’m sorry…”

“That tape? The evidence against me you went through so much to get?” Tritter sneered in a voice of cold triumph. “Gone. Destroyed. You passed it off to the wrong person, House. It’ll never see the inside of a courtroom…” His hand tightened slightly around House’s throat, cutting off his breath completely. “… and neither will you.”

Unable to resist his instinct for survival, House raised his hands in a useless struggle for oxygen, scrabbling weakly against Tritter’s grip. Tritter abruptly released him, only to backhand him hard across the face, knocking him into the wall hard enough to cause him to momentarily black out. When House’s vision and awareness returned, he was on the floor on his knees, Tritter’s boot impacting painfully with his ribcage.

Panicked, House tried to crawl toward the door, his clumsy, shaking fingers grasping at the soft carpet beneath them, but making no progress. A hoarse, desperate plea rasped from his torn, aching throat.

“Help me… please… Wilson… help…”

Even as the unheard words left his lips, House felt an overwhelming sense of shame for uttering them. This was not Wilson’s responsibility… not Wilson’s problem. He had brought this on himself, and had no right to place Wilson – or Cuddy, or Jenna, or anyone else at all – in harm’s way to protect him.

And yet… he had.

His friends had risked everything to keep him safe.

Before he could reach the door, Tritter jerked House to his feet again, dragging him toward the bed. Despite his resolve, blind terror of what he knew was to come made House call out for help again – but his voice was silent. His eyes widened in terror, his breath quickening as he tried to scream… but made not a sound.

Tritter laughed out loud, apparently unconcerned that he might be heard – and a moment later, House found out the dreadful reason why.

“No one can hear you, House,” Tritter sneered as he shoved House down onto his back on the bed. “I told you what would happen if you opened your mouth, didn’t I? But you didn’t listen. And now, they’re dead. They’re all dead… because of you.”

Devastated, House shook his head in desperate denial. “No…” The pleading word was a soundless whisper on his silenced lips. “No… please, no…”

Tritter’s smile was cold, mocking, as he climbed onto the bed, straddling House’s hips and pinning him there. “Too late.” He leaned in to whisper in House’s ear. “You already made your choice.”

When Tritter began to unfasten his belt, House’s stomach lurched with sick horror, and he struggled uselessly to escape the oppressive weight of his attacker. He cried out for help that he knew would not come, screaming soundlessly into the stark emptiness of the abandoned apartment that would become the scene of his death.

Please, no! Please, someone hear me, please! he sobbed in his mind, as his worst fears were realized, and his cries for help, for justice, went unheeded.

“Shut up.”

Tritter snarled as he slapped House in the face, momentarily stunning him. Despair took over, and House no longer felt the will to fight when he felt Tritter’s hands working the fastenings of his jeans. He stopped trying to be heard, his desperate cries for aid, for mercy, echoing only in the trapped silence of his own mind.

Please… please, don’t… please, somebody help me…

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

Wilson did his best to respect the closed door House had so deliberately placed between them, and the need for privacy it indicated. However, when he heard a strange thumping sound from the other side of the door, followed by other suspicious noises, Wilson’s concern got the better of him. Drawing in a deep breath, steeling himself for the sharp rebuff he fully expected, Wilson knocked quietly on House’s bedroom door.

“House? You all right in there?”

He frowned when there was no response, leaning closer to the door when he thought he heard someone inside, talking very quietly. He knocked again, a little louder.

“House?”

Wilson listened very closely, and this time, clearly heard a quiet sob. Alarm overcame caution, and he tried the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked. He pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to intrude on House’s privacy anymore than necessary – then frowned when he found the room apparently empty.

The source of the sounds Wilson had heard, however, was now much easier to find. Wilson followed them around the bed, his shoulders slumping with mingled relief and heartache when he found House on the floor between the bed and the wall, his back pressed against the base of the bed. He was curled into a near fetal position, shaking violently, crying quietly in his sleep.

Perhaps more devastating than his tears was the fact that he was not thrashing, not struggling against the perceived threat that haunted his dreams. There was a sort of despairing acceptance in House’s soft sobs, the way he huddled next to the bed, trembling with terror and trauma, but not fighting.

“House.” Wilson kept his voice quiet, gentle, as he knelt beside his friend and reached out a cautious hand to rest on his arm. “House, wake up. You need to wake up.”

House flinched at his touch, shaking his head and drawing away from him. “Please…” he whispered, and the barely audible syllable was full of such desperate, broken terror that it nearly shattered Wilson to hear it. “Please, don’t… no…”

“House… shhh, it’s okay…” Wilson shifted slowly closer to his friend, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. “It’s just me… it’s Wilson. It’s all right; you just need to wake up…”

Wilson’s words broke off in surprise, as, at the mention of his name, House abruptly reached out to grasp his arm, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, recognizing Wilson’s words with a desperate hope. Finally, he raised his head and opened his eyes, blinking sleepily into the semi-darkness of the room.

House was hesitant, flinching slightly, as if still expecting an attack – but then, his eyes locked onto Wilson’s. He still seemed a little confused, but there was an overwhelming sense of relief on his face when at last he recognized the face of his best friend.

“Wilson,” he sobbed, lowering his forehead to rest on Wilson’s arm, as if simply trying to reassure himself that he was actually there. “Wilson…”

Tears blurred Wilson’s vision as he pushed his back against the wall, drawing House firmly but carefully into his arms, encouraged when his friend did not resist his efforts, but rather clung to him, sinking into his embrace with desperate relief.

“It’s okay… it’s okay,” Wilson reassured him, gently cradling House and rocking slowly, trying to soothe away the remnants of his nightmare. “You’re safe, House… it was just a dream…”

“Just a dream,” House echoed in a hoarse whisper. “You’re alive… just a dream…”

Those telling words hit Wilson hard, and he choked back a sob of his own as he pulled House closer to him, anger welling up inside him as he deduced somewhat of the nature of House’s nightmares.

“We’re both safe, House. We’re all safe,” he amended soothingly. “Everything’s gonna be all right. Just a few more hours, and we’ll all be completely safe for good. This will all be over.”

He knew even as he spoke the words that they weren’t entirely true. There was still a long, difficult road ahead of them, even once Tritter was arrested. But all he cared about in that moment was offering House some sense of stability and comfort.

He should have known better than to think that House would accept a false comfort, even in his state of vulnerability.

House raised his head, haunted eyes meeting Wilson’s as he slowly, despairingly shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “No… it’s nowhere near over.” He paused, lowering his gaze for a moment, staring into space, still seeing images from his nightmares, before burying his head on Wilson’s shoulder again, choking back a deep sob. His final words, barely audible against the fabric of Wilson’s t-shirt, send a chill of apprehension through Wilson, as he struggled to believe that they were not true.

“It won’t ever be over.”

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

The following evening, in a large, comfortable home on the other side of town, someone else was reliving House’s nightmare – not with suffering and dread, but with sadistic pleasure.

Michael Tritter felt a sense of satisfaction when he thought of the way House had broken again, so easily, under his renewed threats. For a little while there, the stubborn, prideful doctor had given him cause for alarm – trying to evade his attempts to contact him, disobeying his orders regarding his job at the hospital… even going so far as to hire a private investigator.

That didn’t last long, Tritter thought with a smug smile, raising his glass in a silent toast to his own powers of persuasion. Brought him back down to size quick enough.

He felt a delicious thrill of pleasure at the thought of how House had submitted to him, sinking to his knees upon command, swiftly remembering who it was that held the power in their twisted “relationship”.

Tritter picked up his cell phone, considering.

Maybe I ought to give him a call… make sure he doesn’t get the chance to get forgetful again…

Before he could begin to dial, however, the doorbell rang.

Tritter frowned thoughtfully, glancing toward the door as he slowly rose to his feet and headed toward it. He couldn’t imagine who might be calling on him at this time of the evening, especially since any of his coworkers who might be paying him a social visit was on duty at the moment.

He opened the door, and was surprised to see two uniformed police officers outside – men that he recognized, but did not know that well, from the Princeton force. He felt a vague sense of unease, wondering what they might want, if perhaps there was some sort of emergency involving one of his cases, and he was needed at the station.

“Clancy… Rogers,” he greeted them with cool curiosity, stepping back and opening the door wider. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

When neither of them responded, or returned his casual, lazy smile, Tritter’s unease began to develop into a genuine anxiety. Still, he kept his tone light and unconcerned as he persisted.

“Everything all right, boys? Should I be getting my coat?”

He studied their faces, troubled by the way they just stood there, staring at him through sober, troubled eyes. After a few moments, Tritter knew – he could read the disgust, the disbelief, in their expressions.

“You might need it,” Rogers replied at last, his words slow and cautious, eyeing Tritter with suspicion as at last he stepped into his foyer. “We’re going down to the station.”

“What’s wrong?”

Tritter was unable to mask a slight tremor in his voice – because deep down, he already knew, even before Clancy’s voice took on a cool, professional tone that Tritter had heard countless times from dozens of cops during the course of his career. Never before had it held such a personal impact for him.

Never before had it been the death knell of everything he’d spent his life building.

“Michael Tritter,” Clancy intoned, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his cuffs. “You’re under arrest, for kidnapping, rape, and murder. You have the right to remain silent…"

TBC...

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From:

hana-tsuki.livejournal.com

For a moment there I really believed Tritter had found out -_- Poor House, what a horrid dream! And yey! Tritter is so going down xD Great chapter ^_^

-Tsuki-

From:

Used, chapter 43

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