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darkdreamer ([personal profile] darkdreamer) wrote2008-12-18 01:06 pm
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Used, chapter 54 :)

Okay, here's the next update, the latest chapter of Used -- hope you all enjoy it, please let me know :P

*hugs*
DoS


Title: Used
Beta: [livejournal.com profile] misanthropicobs
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson/Cuddy friendship, slight Wilson/OFC
Warnings: implied and explicit non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: One night leaving the hospital, a violent attack leaves House devastated and broken. In the aftermath, Wilson and Cuddy struggle to find a way to help him heal -- while House fights just to find a way to survive.



Chapter 54
Perspective

 

House struggled to breathe through the panic that overwhelmed him, and the desperate wave of nausea that choked him as he retched helplessly into the toilet in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought not to black out. His thoughts were a dark, swirling vortex, sucking him back down every time he struggled to the surface, fighting not to drown in his own panic and desperation.

He's going to kill me... I can't testify, can't make myself face him and tell what he did, but it doesn't matter because either way he's going to kill me...

When there was nothing left in him for his body to reject, House still crouched over the toilet, his knees throbbing from the force with which they had hit the cold tile, his thigh aching from the uncomfortable position, and his stomach still clenched in cold, trembling knots as his entire body shook with dread.

It's hopeless. I can't do this, can't tell them, and it's over... he wins... he's going to walk, and I'll never be safe again, and Wilson and Cuddy and Jenna and anyone I've ever told about him is going to die and it's all because of me...

And… I didn't lock the door when I came in here... he could come in at any time... he could be outside this stall right now...

Although he knew on a purely intellectual level that Tritter was in shackles in the courtroom and couldn't touch him, House felt a sudden, irrational chill of terror wash through him, as he remembered what he'd neglected in his rush to get to the bathroom.

Suddenly, he felt incredibly vulnerable, on his knees on the bathroom floor, and all he could think was that he needed to get to his feet. Grasping the back of the toilet for leverage, House dragged himself to a standing position with an agonizing effort, bracing himself on one hand as he reached blindly for his cane, which he had dropped somewhere along the way.

Before he could reach it, he felt warm, strong hands at his waist -- and lurched away from them in panic, whirling around and pushing blindly at them, shaking his head, struggling to free himself.

"No... no, don't touch me! Let go of me, no!"

A hard hand gripped his throat, silencing his cries and shoving him against the wall with a violent, painful impact. The rough, unyielding hand tilted his chin upward, forcing him to look into the familiar, terrifying eyes of the man who had broken him, smiling down at him with cold, taunting menace in his gaze.

"I told you you'd never be able to beat me," Tritter sneered. "I told you I'd win. There's no way you'll ever forget what I did to you -- and that means that no matter what happens... I win."

The hand at his throat tightened cruelly, cutting off his oxygen, and House fought frantically, gasping for breath, flailing and struggling blindly in an attempt to free himself and gain his breath.

No, no, no... he cried out in his mind. No, don't let him... not like this... don't let him get me again...

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

"No, don't let him... don't let him get me again!"

Wilson's heart lurched, his throat throbbing with the tears that streaked his face at House's frantic, fevered plea, almost childlike in its simplicity and desperation. He reached out firm but gentle hands to catch House's flailing wrists, trying to control his blind, panicked struggles long enough to make him understand that he was safe, that the foe he thought he was fighting was, at the moment, imaginary.

"House... House, it's okay... it's just me... you're okay..."

"No, no, please don't..."

House's voice was slurred, breathless, exhausted, as he tried to pull away from Wilson's gently restraining hands, though his struggles grew weaker as he collapsed against the wall, his knees giving out beneath him. He still weakly tried to push Wilson away as Wilson pressed in close to his shaken friend, supporting him when he would have fallen to the floor.

"Shhh," Wilson murmured. "It's all right... it's all right, House, you're safe... It's just me..."

At last, House opened his eyes, wild and filled with panic and confusion, to gradually focus on Wilson's face. Blind terror faded into relief and despair, as House lowered his head, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Shhh, come here..."

Wilson whispered soothingly, moving in closer now that it was safe to do so, wrapping protective arms around his friend and sinking to the floor with him as House's strength finally gave out and exhaustion took him to his knees once more.

This time, Wilson was there to support him, to ease him down so that there was no painful impact with the hard tile. Heedless of his carefully chosen clothing, Wilson shifted so that his own back was to the wall, pulling House into his arms and holding him close as he sobbed out the remnants of his panic.

"It's going to be all right, House," he murmured, raising a hand to stroke gently through House's disheveled, sweat-dampened hair. "You're going to be fine. He can't hurt you anymore. You're safe, and you're strong, and you can do this..."

House shook his head, gasping for breath, struggling to regain his composure enough to respond. Realizing that he wanted to speak, Wilson went quiet, patiently waiting for him to get his breath, just holding him and stroking his hair and back in slow, rhythmic motions of reassurance.

Finally, House spoke, his barely audible whisper echoing off the metal walls of the bathroom stall.

"Y-you don't understand. He's still... controlling everything..."

"He's not in control anymore, House," Wilson insisted, shaking his head. "I know it feels that way, but..."

"He just kept... staring at me... the whole time," House continued, heedless of Wilson's words, eyes wide and haunted and focused intently on nothing. "He asked for the recess, Wilson. He did. Just because... because he wanted me to know that he could -- that he's still the one calling the shots."

Wilson frowned, swallowing hard and trying to think of something reassuring to say, in the wake of the realization of House's words – but none of his muddled, furious thoughts were particularly helpful.

Somehow, he was sure, I’m going to kill that sick bastard, just wasn’t going to cut it.

"I think he... I think he wants to hear it," House whispered. Wilson could feel the shiver that shook his body, and House seemed to huddle unconsciously closer to his friend, instinctively seeking reassurance that he wouldn’t have allowed himself to ask for. "I think he... he's going to enjoy... hearing me talk about... what he did to me. Hearing me... have to... relive it... again..." He shook his head with a shudder of horror and revulsion. "I... don't think I... can..."

House's breath was now coming in short, urgent gasps, and Wilson could feel his body tensing, on the verge of fresh panic. Feeling helpless in the face of the power of House’s trauma, Wilson just held him tight, and did his best to soothe his fears, despite the uselessness he felt.

"Sure you can," he said in a soft, carefully calm voice, swallowing back his own sob. "House... you already have. You've already told your story, several times before. All you have to do is the same thing you've already done..."

"Yeah... but..." House looked up at him, and the lost, terrified look in his eyes made Wilson's heart ache. "... that was... only to you. It's... it's not the same, Wilson. It's not the same... at all. Telling it just to... to you... was hard enough... but it's a walk in the park compared to... compared to this..."

Wilson was quiet, frowning thoughtfully as he considered the painful truth of House's words. His frown deepened slightly, and he met House's eyes with a cautious speculation in his own.

"Maybe... maybe you should… just tell me… again, then."

House frowned in confusion, shaking his head slightly. "What...?"

"Just tell me again... while you're on the witness stand," Wilson explained gently, holding House's gaze intently. "Don't look at him... don't think about him... don't let him get to you, because that's what he's trying to do. He's trying to psych you out so you can't tell your story, and can't put him away. Don't let him."

House swallowed hard, lowering his gaze with uncertainty.

"Hey. Look at me," Wilson quietly urged him, and House reluctantly obeyed. "You don't have to let him. When we go back in there... you just don't even look at him. Ignore him completely -- and keep your eyes locked on me. Okay? Brooke will ask you about what happened... and you just look at me. Tritter’s defense attorney will get up after that, and he’ll be trying to trip you up, trying to freak you out and make you panic… and you just look at me, and tell me the same things you’ve already told me, all right? Okay? Forget about everybody else, especially Tritter. I won’t look away, and you don’t either – and I promise you, you will get through this. All right?"

House stared at him, understanding dawning gradually in his eyes, then nodded slowly, hope beginning to surface in his expression.

"That... might actually work..."

"It has to work," Wilson corrected, his voice compassionate but intense as he held House's gaze, speaking in a low, solemn tone. "House... if you can't testify... then we're all dead. Because... if you can't testify, then... then Tritter will walk. If you get up there and tell that jury what he did, tell them the truth... then there's no way in the world that he'll get away with this. But if you don't... then he most likely will... and you know as well as I do that if that happens, he will come after us."

Wilson paused, allowing the heavy but necessary truth of his words to sink in before continuing.

"We're already past the point of no return, House. It's too late to reconsider this now. I know you're scared. I know your mind is screaming at you to keep your mouth shut, because of the things he said he'd do to you if you didn't. Well... you already 'didn't'." Wilson's tone was slightly apologetic, but matter-of-fact, as he stated their situation in honest, concise terms that managed to cut through the fog of terror in House's thoughts. "As things stand now, he's planning to make you pay for it if he gets off. So... the only option is to not let him get off. If you don't testify... he's gonna come after you. If you do... he won't be able to."

Wilson gave House a tentative but warm smile, smoothing back House's disheveled hair as he gave a rueful shrug.

"No brainer."

House nodded slowly, looking away as he thought about what Wilson had said -- and the undeniable truth of his argument. Wilson had not tried to soothe his fears with empty platitudes and false promises, but had rather gently but firmly brought him face to face with the reality of the decision he had to make – fold under the pressure of Tritter’s intimidation, and allow the man the freedom to continue making his existence a living nightmare; or tell his story to the court, and wrest from Tritter’s hands the power to ever touch him or his again.

It was an easy choice, really.

“Just keep your eyes on me,” Wilson repeated softly, easing his grip on House’s body as he felt his tremors subsiding. “Just stay focused on me and don’t let him get to you.” He paused, his smile fading into a serious expression as he added, “He knows you can beat him now, House. He knows you’re the one with the power – and that’s why he’s trying so hard to psych you out. Because the only way he can get to you, now, is in your head. But see… that’s where he’s confused…” Wilson’s smile reappeared, shifting into a smirk, his dark eyes dancing with triumph. “… because that’s the one place where you can’t lose.”

House tentatively returned his smile, nodding slowly in reluctant acceptance as he drew awkwardly away from Wilson’s embrace, looking uncomfortably around him for something on which to brace himself to rise. Wilson slid back and rose easily to his feet, reaching down to pull House up with him, and placing his cane carefully in his hands.

With tenderness and care that brought a fresh lump to House’s throat, Wilson led him to the sink outside the stall, dampening some paper towels and giving them to House to wash his face. While House was cleaning up, Wilson took a paper cup from the dispenser on the wall and poured him some cool water to rinse his mouth.

House felt a bit like a child being reassured after a nightmare – but considering that he felt a bit like he was actually living a nightmare, he decided that for the moment, he could tolerate it. He allowed Wilson to fuss over him a few moments more, making sure he was all right and presentable and ready to face the outside world again.

“Okay,” Wilson said at last, meeting House’s eyes with a concerned question. “Ready?”

“Ready,” House echoed with a quiet nod. “Let’s do this."

TBC...



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