darkdreamer

Hi, guys, here's the next update :) Hope you enjoy it :)

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DoS

Title: Used
Beta:

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 56
Under Attack

As the defense attorney started toward him, House steadied himself with an effort, trying to prepare himself mentally for the verbal assault he knew he was about to face -- but there was no time. Tritter's attorney was already headed toward him, a cool smile of predatory expectation on his lips.

Brooke's questions had been as gently and patiently delivered as possible, and they had still left House's dignity in tatters, left him a trembling, terrified wreck on the verge of a massive panic attack. Tritter's attorney was almost certainly going to make it one of his goals to make House fall apart on the stand, to shatter his credibility, confuse him and make him contradict himself.

House wasn't sure what was left of his defenses would be able to withstand that attack.

"Dr. House," the attorney began with a disarming smile of false sympathy. "No offense... because I know you've been through a terrible ordeal... but... your description of your initial encounter with my client seems to indicate that you assaulted him when you first met. Sticking a thermometer up a man’s rectum and leaving it there, leaving him helpless and humiliated with no means of escaping the situation without further humiliation – that’s sexual assault in and of itself. Wouldn’t you say that's a fair conclusion to make?"

House swallowed hard, lowering his gaze in embarrassment. "I... I guess you could say that," he admitted quietly. "But... there was nothing… sexual… about that. He… he kicked my cane out from under me. And... what he did later... doesn't even compare with..."

"You claim that your admitted assault on my client was in response to his kicking your cane," the attorney cut him off smoothly. "Do you think it's possible that, supposing my client was guilty of the crimes of which you accuse him, it might have been a reaction to your violation of him?"

"I... I think it was," House agreed hesitantly, struggling to process the question, aware of what the attorney was trying to do, and yet unable to think of a way to stop him. "I already said... if I hadn't... already had the… confrontation with him in the clinic, then maybe... maybe he wouldn't have done... what he did... but... that doesn't make it..."

"So... you were actually guilty of sexual assault on my client, far prior to the alleged attack you experienced," the attorney concluded, "making you guilty of the same crime of which you've accused my client."

"No, it... it wasn't the same..." House insisted, hesitant and trembling, his stomach clenched painfully as he swallowed back the sick rush of bile that filled his throat at the attorney's suggestion. "I didn't... I mean..."

As he looked away from the attorney, House's eyes caught Wilson's again, and he was reminded of their plan. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on Wilson's intent, anxious gaze. Wilson nodded slightly in encouragement, and House squared his shoulders slightly, drawing in a trembling breath before looking back to the attorney.

"You have no idea," he stated in a soft but steadier voice, "how... how powerless it can feel to be... disabled, and... to have that disability... exploited, by someone... bigger, and... and stronger. To be... virtually at the mercy of anyone who decides they want to... to bully you. To... prove their power over you." He was silent for a moment before adding quietly, "Like... like your client did to me..."

"What was it that the district attorney's been stressing so strongly all day?" the attorney interrupted House again, turning toward the jury with a pointedly questioning look. "There is never any excuse for sexual assault? The victim is never at fault?" He looked back toward House, his expression hardening with accusation. "You, Dr. House, have admitted to such an assault. My client, on the other hand, is presumed innocent."

House opened his mouth to protest, but the attorney was already moving on.

"Also according to your own testimony, you're addicted to the painkiller Vicodin. Is that correct, Dr. House?"

House hesitated, looking down again as he wrestled to give an answer he had not yet completely admitted to himself as truth. Finally, he replied in a quiet, subdued voice.

"Yes. That's right."

"By your own admission, you're almost constantly under the influence of narcotics. Isn't it possible that in the midst of the trauma of the attack you've described – blindfolded, disoriented from being dragged around and manhandled and held down, and unable to even face your attackers for so much of the time in question -- while under the influence of the drugs to which you’ve admitted to being addicted -- you might have been confused as to exactly who was there? Isn't it possible that you made a mental association with the man you had assaulted in a similar fashion, and, in a reaction to your own guilt, your subconscious concocted the idea that my client was the one assaulting you?"

"There was nothing similar…” House’s words were choked with emotion, and he stopped for a long moment, struggling to regain his composure. “No,” House insisted at last, his voice quiet and intense, shaking his head emphatically. "No, that's not possible. I know who I saw. I know who... who raped me. The Vicodin... doesn't impair my thought processes. It just... suppresses my pain and therefore clarifies my thought processes. I work better... think better... when I'm on it. There is no way that it was anyone but Tritter who..."

“Any addict would claim that his drug addiction doesn’t impair his mental capabilities,” the attorney pointed out with a knowing, dismissive smirk. “The truth is, Dr. House – it’s impossible for you to judge the amount of impairment you experience due to your drug use, while under the influence of those drugs.”

House opened his mouth to protest, but the attorney continued without hesitation.

“So, on the night of the infamous video recording the state has introduced as evidence… I’m confused about a couple of things, Dr. House.” The attorney frowned, the confusion in his expression clearly false, a hint of smug amusement in his eyes as he shook his head slightly and went on. “If you were so certain that my client was responsible for the brutal assault you’ve described – so sure that he was the man who tortured and beat and raped you for hours – why would you ever agree to such a plan? Why would you even let him into your apartment at all, instead of, say – calling for help? Trying to fight him, or get away, or… or anything but planning a scenario which involved you alone in a room with your rapist?”

“It was the only way,” House explained, hesitant, his voice trembling as he fought against the painful mental images invoked by the attorney’s vivid words – deliberately chosen to have just that effect, House suspected. “We had to do something to get… solid evidence against him. We were afraid that… if I just… went to the police… they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Right. That ‘thin blue line’ and all. Concealment, conspiracy, secret incidents of police brutality – yeah,” the attorney sneered. “I saw that made-for-tv movie, too.”

“Objection…”

“I’m moving on, Your Honor,” the defense attorney spoke up quickly. “I apologize if that was out of line.” He turned back toward House and continued with a sly smile. “You know what I think might make a more believable explanation for your actions? I think you’d be a lot more willing to let the man in the video into your home, if you knew beyond all doubt that it wasn’t someone who would actually hurt you. And, if you actually believe that my client did what you say he did, well – that wouldn’t be him, that’s for sure. I think… you hired someone to pretend to be my client, to play through that little scene on the tape and gather false evidence against Mr. Tritter. Didn’t you?”

“No,” House insisted emphatically, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t. Tritter is the man in the video…”

“Convenient how his face never appears in the video, isn’t it?” the attorney pointed out.

“The position of the camera made that impossible,” House explained.

“Yes, again… convenient,” the attorney observed. “Almost as convenient as the garbled and unclear audio that accompanies the rather dubious video. Perfect set-up to conceal the fact that your alleged attacker in the video was nothing more than a hired actor…”

“No, that’s not true,” House argued, his voice trembling, agitated. “His audio might have been unclear because of the way he was moving, his distance in relation to the camera. Mine, on the other hand, was perfectly clear, the entire time. Did I sound like I was acting? I wasn’t.” House blinked back tears of anger, frustration and humiliation that sprang to his eyes. “I was terrified out of my mind. I thought he might… beat me, or… or kill me before my friends could get to me and stop him, or find out they were there and kill all of us – but not before he raped me again... It was the most difficult and terrifying thing I’ve ever had to do in my life – but it was the only way.”

The attorney was quiet for a moment, taking a step back and surveying House, pretending to be impressed with his arresting words, the undeniable conviction and sincerity in his voice. Then, he shook his head skeptically, arms crossed over his chest.

“Again, Dr. House,” he remarked quietly. “Very convincing. But then – you’re quite the accomplished actor yourself, aren’t you? With a rather… entertaining history of your own little deceptions…”

The attorney proceeded to run through a rather damaging litany describing various dubious incidents during the course of House’s career. House did his best to explain his motivations in each situation, but with every example the attorney brought up, he felt his hopes sink a little further, well aware that the attorney was succeeding in casting doubt on his honesty.

“I wasn’t acting,” House insisted at last, humiliated by the very suggestion. “I wasn’t faking the… the documented injuries…”

“Documented by your best friend,” the attorney interjected.

House flinched slightly. He had expected that point to be brought up sooner or later. He glanced at Wilson again, finding the support he needed in Wilson’s fiercely indignant, protective gaze. He knew that if he could have done so without further damaging his friend’s case, Wilson would have had a thing or two to say to the cruel, unscrupulous attorney.

House’s jaw set with determination, and he sat up a little straighter, rallying as he decided that he would just have to say those things for Wilson.

“Documented by my primary physician,” House corrected. “It happened. I was raped. I was… was beaten so badly that there wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t… wasn’t bruised. I still haven’t recovered from all of the physical injuries inflicted that night.” He hesitated, looking downward again, swallowing hard as he added more softly, “Or… the other injuries, for that matter. It happened, and there’s no denying that, no matter how many Vicodin I take a day, or how many medical rules and protocols I’ve broken, or how many authority figures I’ve managed to piss off. This isn’t about any of that. This is about… what he…” House summoned all his courage to point toward Tritter, meeting the face of his worst nightmare for the briefest of instants before looking at the attorney again. “… did to me.”

House was quiet for a moment, looking down again, lips parted as he gathered the strength to continue, then finally went on in a voice that was trembling and uncertain, yet filled with the strength of conviction that came with knowing he spoke the truth.

“What happened to me – that’s a fact. And if Michael Tritter wasn’t the one who did it to me, getting some kind of half-assed revenge against him for a couple of half-deserved charges that didn’t even stick would be the last thing on my mind. I’d be trying to take down the bastard who did do it – which is exactly what I’m trying to do.”

House looked toward the jury, his gaze open and expressive and honest as he stated softly, “That’s all I’m trying to do – to get the man who... who took away… my sense of safety, and… and dignity… and self-worth… put into prison where he can’t… can’t do any more damage to my life… or anyone else’s. I just want… I just want to feel safe again – and I can’t… can’t ever feel that way… as long as the man who… who violated me… is free.”

The defense attorney attempted to recover control of the situation, but there was little he could do following House’s sincere, impassioned words. He continued with his accusations and aspersions on House’s character and credibility, but it was clear that the jury was already lost to him.

When House left the stand, his face was streaked with tears, and his shaking legs barely had the strength to carry him back to his seat; but he returned to that seat with a clear sense of victory, knowing that he had done his best, told the truth – and done everything in his power to condemn Tritter to the fate he deserved.

As he collapsed into his seat next to Wilson, suddenly shaking all over with the release of the tension of what he had just done, Wilson unashamedly wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders, leaning in close to speak softly into his ear, barely suppressing a triumphant grin.

“You did it,” he whispered with obvious awe and admiration. “You got him, House. He’s done."

TBC...