darkdreamer | Used, Chapter 61

Hey, guys... just a quick post here on my way out the door... don't hate me for this chapter, kay? It will all be okay in the end, promise :P

*hugs*
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 61
Defeated

One week later, House's car still had not been moved from its parking space outside the hospital.

Wilson knew that it bothered House to know that he wasn't yet capable of seeing himself home in the evenings. He felt embarrassed and ashamed of his perceived weakness, and though he rarely voiced it, Wilson knew that he believed himself to be becoming a burden to his friend. Wilson found himself driving House home every evening, walking with him anytime he had to be outdoors after dark, and just generally doing everything in his power to make sure that House felt safe.

House knew that he needed no less than that, but still, he felt that it was too much to ask.

Wilson really didn't mind at all.

They lived in the same apartment, worked the same hours at the same workplace, so it was no inconvenience to him – not to mention the fact that sometimes, he was nearly as nervous as House was about the idea of him being alone after dark.

Truth be told, their shaky routine was as much a comfort to Wilson as it was to House.

It was about four o'clock, and Wilson still had a little over an hour to work, when he remembered a file he had taken home the evening before, then forgotten and left at home that morning. He swore softly under his breath in irritation at the inconvenient oversight. Cuddy had asked him to be sure to bring the file back that day, as she needed it first thing the following morning.

At least he didn't have any pressing work left for the afternoon, and could afford to go home and get the file and come back, sparing himself the need to return to the hospital later in the evening, once his working hours were over.

Wilson sighed wearily as he made his way down to the parking lot, annoyed at having to make the extra trip. He glanced at his watch, wondering briefly if he should have left House a note to let him know where he had gone, but decided that it would be all right. House wouldn't be ready to leave for the day for another hour at least.

I'll be back in thirty minutes... no reason to go back... If House comes by before I get back, he'll just assume I'm somewhere in the hospital. He won't worry until five, at least...

Wilson glanced through the glass walls of Cuddy's office as he passed through the clinic, noticing with absent, distracted curiosity that she appeared to have already left for the day -- which was somewhat strange. Cuddy was usually the last to leave.

Oh, well. Everyone needs a break now and then – even if hers happens to consist of nothing more than the occasional hour at the end of a day now and then.

Wilson was distracted as he crossed the parking lot to his car, but not concerned. He had parked in the lot as opposed to the garage, as usual. Ever since the attack, neither he nor House even considered parking in the garage. It was still bright outside, the sun low but still visible in the western sky, so the fears House had passed onto him which usually accompanied such a trip after dark were blessedly absent at the moment.

Wilson unlocked his car door and slid into the driver's seat, placing his key in the ignition. A moment later, his grim expression of irritation faded into a smile of pleased surprise when he noticed the file in question lying on the dashboard.

Didn't leave it at home, after all. Well, that's convenient.

Wilson turned the key back and removed it from the ignition, opening the door again to get out. Before he could, however, a shadow fell across the open door, and he looked up in curiosity -- that swiftly shifted to stunned disbelief and alarm when he saw whose shadow was looming over him. He tried to stand quickly, to remove the disadvantage of his seated position, his lips parted to cry out for help.

Before he could make a move or sound in his defense, however, the man shot out a hand toward him. Wilson recognized the object in his hand with alarm, but had no time to avoid the point of the hypodermic needle Tritter held before the larger man could use it. He felt the sharp jab of the needle in the side of his neck, opened his mouth to cry out... just before everything around him faded away into darkness.

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

A few minutes before five o'clock, House made his way down the hall to Wilson's office, weary and exhausted and ready to go home for the evening. He reflected with a sense of relief and satisfaction that today had been a good day, untouched by the sort of panic attacks and moments of irrational terror that so often plagued his waking hours.

He walked into Wilson's office without knocking, as usual -- then stopped short just past the doorway, frowning in surprise. He had expected that Wilson would have been in his office around this time, gathering his belongings and getting ready to leave -- but the office was empty.

The lights were still on, and Wilson's briefcase was open on the desk, papers still scattered across the blotter, as if he had left them there with the intention of returning within a very short time. Surprised, but not too concerned, House decided to wait for him. He sat down in the chair across from Wilson's desk, leaning back and letting his head fall backward, eyes closed, as he tried to relax and let go of some of the tension of a long and stressful day.

When Wilson did not return within the next fifteen minutes, however, House began to worry that something might actually be wrong. It was well past time to leave for the day, and Wilson had let him know that he wanted to leave on time this evening, if at all possible.

House took out his cell phone and dialed Wilson's number, frowning thoughtfully as he waited for his friend to pick up. Mild concern turned to outright worry, when he heard Wilson's familiar ring tone begin to echo in the stillness of the room, and saw the rhythmic blinking light of its screen, glowing from beneath a stack of rustling papers in Wilson's open briefcase.

House rose from the chair, his thoughts racing with the beginnings of a panic that he was sure – mostly – was quite premature.

There's no reason to worry. He's probably just down in the clinic, checking in with Cuddy about something -- or checking on a patient one last time before he leaves for the day. It's nothing… nothing to worry about. Everything is fine.

Somehow, this time, House couldn't quite convince himself that his reassuring thoughts were true.

He hesitated a moment, unsure of what course of action to take, before turning decisively and making his way toward the elevators. His first course of action, he supposed, should be to check the parking lot and make sure that Wilson's car was still there. It should be, as all of Wilson's belongings were still in his office -- but seeing Wilson's car for himself would allow House the peace of mind of knowing that he was still somewhere in the hospital.

On the stone tile outside the clinic entrance, however -- House found himself once more face to face with his worst fears.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked out over the parking lot, glancing anxiously up at the last of the fading light in the twilight sky. His trembling hands balled into fists at his sides, clenching and unclenching, as he waged a silent war with his own apprehensions, struggling to find the strength to step out onto the surface of his fears.

I can't... can't do it. I should just go back to his office and wait for him... He has to come back at some point. He wouldn’t have just left me… but... but what if something has happened? What if he's not okay, and I... I just walk away, and... no... no, I have to make sure he's all right...

House steeled himself and took a shaky but determined step off the stone tile and onto the concrete… and his stomach lurched with that single step. He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing again, his throat constricted in terror.

It's perfectly safe... Tritter's in prison, and it's perfectly safe... Don't think about it... Just head for Wilson's car, and don't think about it...

One halting step after another, his trembling hand taut, white-knuckled on the grip of his cane, House made his way across the dimly lit parking lot toward the place where Wilson had parked his car -- for House's benefit, as close to the entrance as he could get it without having a handicapped spot.

House's stomach dropped as he rounded the corner toward the place where Wilson's car had been parked -- and saw that it was empty.

But... that can't be right. He wouldn't have left for the day -- not without making sure I was all right. That's completely not like him. Something must have happened. Something's wrong... maybe he got a call about a family emergency, and had to leave suddenly, and it’s bad enough that he just didn’t remember… or… or... something...

His brow creased with worry, House turned and headed toward his own car, parked a bit closer to the hospital entrance than Wilson's had been. He was unsettlingly aware that the last of the evening light had faded, as he opened the door with a trembling hand and climbed hurriedly into the driver's seat, eager to reach the safety it promised, though his thoughts were focused almost completely on Wilson.

Gotta get home... gotta find out what happened, why he rushed off... make sure he's okay...

He quickly started the engine, his hand moving to the gear shift to put it into drive – but before he could, a vice-like hand closed around his arm, yanking it back behind him and preventing the motion, as a second hand pressed over his mouth, holding his head back against the head rest behind him and muffling the instinctive cry of desperate fear that left his lips.

“Shhh,” a sickeningly familiar voice whispered in his ear, rancid breath that smelled of nicotine and decay hot and damp against his neck. “Keep your mouth shut, House. Don’t make a sound, and don’t move.”

No, no, this can’t be happening… He’s in prison, he can’t be here, he’s locked up for life… but… but it’s real… and he’s here… and… God… I’m going to die…

Despite that disconcerting knowledge, Tritter’s deeply ingrained threats and intimidations from the past were enough to keep House’s hand obediently still as Tritter released his arm and raised his hand to press something cold and hard and circular against his temple. House’s mouth went dry, and he closed his eyes, suddenly more certain than ever that Tritter had no intention of leaving him alive – not this time.

“You’re not going to give me a hard time, are you, House?” Tritter murmured into his ear, pressing harder with the gun against his head. “You’re not going to resist me, and you’re not going to make a sound unless I tell you to – are you?”

When Tritter slowly, cautiously removed his hand from House’s mouth, House shook his head without opening his eyes, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. “N-no,” he whispered, his tone filled with the defeat of knowing that, despite their every effort, despite every recourse the law allowed – Tritter was still able to get to him, still able to do whatever he wanted to do to him. “No.”

What’s the use? He always wins, anyway…

“Good,” Tritter murmured, his tone almost soothing as he trailed the gun down from House’s temple to his neck, his free hand running slowly up and down House’s arm in a sickening parody of gentleness that left House fighting back a surge of bile that rose in his throat. “That’s a good boy. We need to have a little talk, House – and we’re going to go somewhere a little more – private – to do it."

TBC...