Used

Miraculously, Wilson managed somehow to sneak House, still unconscious, down the hall and onto the next floor to perform the necessary internal scans to determine whether or not there was any internal injury, without drawing the attention of any of the hospital’s overnight staff.

Equally miraculous was the fact that House had no injuries to his internal organs from the beating and the other horrors he had experienced. Relieved, Wilson returned him to the patient room he had been using; but his relief was short-lived, his thoughts returning to the ghastly cuts he had seen during his examination.

House was going to need surgery to repair them, and some time in the hospital, hooked up to a colonic catheter, in order to avoid infection.

And as much as he’s gonna hate it…that means someone besides me is gonna have to know…

Wilson dreaded the idea of trying to convince House to tell anyone his shameful secret, but there was no avoiding the conversation. He would not break his promise to his friend, would not betray his privacy and dignity – not without at least talking to him and giving him a damn good reason why.

So, with nothing else to do until House awakened, Wilson sat at the side of the gurney, watching him sleep, and trying not to think too much about what he had been through that night, and the agony that awaited him, both physical and emotional, upon waking.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Lisa Cuddy groaned as the shrill sound of the telephone ringing on her nightstand invaded a rather pleasant dream she had been having, drawing her reluctantly from the warm comfort of sleep to awaken in the darkness of her bedroom. Her vision still blurry from sleep, she fumbled with one hand for the phone, finally finding the receiver and somehow managing to get it to her ear.

“Hello?” She did her best to sound as professional as possible, though she was sure her exhaustion showed it her sleep.

It’s not as if I actually get much sleep to begin with…and then they’ve got to call me at… She glanced at the red glowing numbers on the clock on the nightstand, sighing her frustration. God…3:00am! Suddenly feeling much more alert with apprehension, Cuddy sat up in the bed, frowning as she waited for whoever was calling to speak. What’s wrong? Something must have happened…

“Yes, Dr. Cuddy?”

“Yes…who’s this?”

“This is Sarah Martin; I’m working the overnight shift at the hospital tonight? I’m so sorry to call you so late, I just…well…I thought maybe you should…know about this…”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Cuddy did her best not to sound impatient, but it took quite an effort.

“Well…I’ve been debating whether or not to bring this up…because…well, it might be nothing…but I really don’t think so…”

“Uh huh.”

Cuddy hurried her along with her curt response, wishing the woman – whose face she could not even place – would just hurry up and spit it out, so she could either stop worrying and go back to sleep, or get up and get dressed and down to the hospital, if it turned out that she was needed there.

“Well…it involves Dr. Wilson…he’s still here…”

“He said he was working late tonight,” Cuddy pointed out, though she frowned at the nurse’s words. After all, 3:00am was an awfully late night, even for a doctor as dedicated as Wilson.

“I think it might also involve…um…Dr. House…”

Cuddy sighed, resting her forehead in her hand as she closed her eyes. She really needed to hear no more to know that she had gotten all the rest she was going to get for the night. She rose from the bed, already reaching for the outfit she had laid out for the next morning.

“Give me twenty minutes. I’ll be right there.”

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

House’s leg screamed in protest as he was dragged from the car, half-supported by his familiar captor, who held his arm in a painful grip and yanked him along at his side, at a pace much too rapid for House to reasonably keep up, especially blindfolded and without his cane. When his foot came in contact with some obstruction – a rock, or a root, or some such thing – the doctor went down, his leg giving out beneath him as he struggled in vain to regain his balance without his sight.

The strong man beside him jerked him upright again, a hard hand grasping his throat and squeezing painfully through the pillowcase that still covered his head, as he stopped their advance long enough to snarl in his ear, “Keep up, Dr. House. You don’t want me to lose my patience.”

“Yeah,” House gasped out around the hand painfully obstructing his breath. “That’s easier…said than done…asshole…”

The man barked out a short laugh of surprise, and House felt his hand move away from his throat, heard the difference in the distance of his voice as the man stepped backward for a moment.

“Asshole,” he repeated under his breath, and House could almost hear him shaking his head in sarcastic amusement. “That’s really impressive, Dr. House. Not the vocabulary. In fact, that’s one of your weaker comebacks, really. It’s just really amazing how brazen and arrogant you still are, even now…”

Suddenly, rough hands shoved him backward, and House winced, biting back a cry as his back impacted painfully against something hard and rough and unyielding – a tree, maybe? He didn’t have time to think about it, because in the next instant a heavy boot connected with his right thigh, crushing it between the man’s foot and the trunk of the tree behind him. He fought to maintain his silence through the pain, though he could not hold back a faint groan as his tormentor delivered a second blow, just like the first, only harder, and the damaged limb exploded in agony.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” There was patronizing, false regret in the words. “…is your leg giving you some trouble, then? Maybe we should slow down a little, give you a chance to rest it.” And then, the choking hand was back at his throat, cutting off his oxygen and slamming his head painfully against the rough surface behind him, as the menacing voice whispered in his ear, “Or maybe you should do as you’re told and keep up. You’re gonna do as I say, and you’re gonna keep your smart mouth shut…aren’t you?”

Despite the dangerous situation he was in, despite his knowledge that the wisest thing would be to simply go along with them for now…House couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. His jaw set, and because he knew the man could not see it, he deliberately squared his shoulders, even as he struggled to draw each breath, unable to form the defiant words he wanted to speak.

The result was another vicious kick to his thigh that made colored flashes of light appear in the darkness that surrounded him, and would have sent him to his knees, had he not been held up by the hand clamped tightly around his throat.

“Aren’t you?” the voice whispered again, and House could hear the malicious pleasure in the sound.

Finally, knowing that another blow would be likely to leave him completely incapacitated, House nodded hurriedly, as best he could against the restraining hand that held him.

“See, that’s so much better. Things are gonna go so much easier for you if you just do as I say,” his captor informed him softly as his hand shifted from his throat to the collar of his jacket, and began dragging him once more toward their unknown destination.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

In his memory, House did not know the words to be a lie, though he did have his suspicions; but in reality, he already knew what happened next, knew the horror of degradation and torment he was about to go through – and his weakened, damaged body fought against it.

As the sedative began to wear off in the quiet hours of the early morning, House began to thrash in the blanket that covered him, moaning quietly, his face contorting in an unfamiliar mask of fear and pain.

“Please…don’t…sorry…please…”

The words were barely a whisper, but Wilson heard them clearly in the stillness of the room – and they stole his breath. His heart lurched in sympathetic pain for his friend, and he moved forward quickly, wanting to wake him up, to break him out of the nightmare that had gripped him.

Yeah…but wake him up to what?

Wilson’s dark thoughts were full of anger toward the men that had done this, that had left House no refuge either in wakefulness or in dreams. Still, merely remembering what had been done to him had to be slightly better than reliving it – didn’t it?

He leaned forward in the chair he had pulled to the side of the gurney, gentle hands shaking House’s shoulders, trying not to jar his injuries too much as he did.

“House,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice soft and gentle. “House…wake up, House…it’s just a dream…”

But the light touch of his hand seemed to further agitate the older man, whose moaning grew louder as he jerked away from Wilson’s hands. “No,” he cried out quietly, his voice breaking over the word. “Don’t…not again…don’t…”

Wilson shook him harder, biting his lower lip as he thought of the deep purple bruises that covered his friend’s body, and the more sensitive injuries he had sustained from the rape. He did not want to hurt House, but he had to wake him up; the nightmare was only getting worse.

“House…wake up…it’s just me, it’s Wilson, you’ve got to wake up!” he insisted, the tone of his voice verging on desperation.

“Let go of me, you bastard!” House nearly shouted in anguished fury, as he shook Wilson’s hands off him once more, a single arm lashing out in a sightless, flailing blow, designed to drive the restraining grip away – and succeeding in bloodying his best friend’s lip.

Instinctively, Wilson let him go, his hand going to his lip, touching it, then coming away wet with blood where it was split. He looked back at House, suppressing the twinge of irritation brought on by the pain, reminding himself that at the moment, House could not be held responsible for his own actions.

If I’d been through what he’s been through…I’d be trying to knock out anyone who came close enough to touch, too…

Steeling himself for the ordeal that was not over yet, Wilson turned back toward House, ignoring the pain in his mouth for the moment as he reached out to catch House’s wrists, drawing them down in front of him in an attempt to control his wild flailing, before he managed to hurt himself.

“House!” He raised his voice with urgency, leaning in close to his face. “Wake up!”

Suddenly, bright light fell on them as the door opened, and Wilson barely had time to register it with alarm, before the door was closed again. Struggling to both restrain his nearly frantic friend, and deal with the sudden intrusion upon his privacy, he tried to turn toward the door and see who had dared to enter.

“Get out!” he snarled, just as he turned.

“Oh, my God.”

The soft, familiar voice froze him in his tracks, before he could continue with the verbal assault that sprang to his mind, and Wilson’s eyes went wide with horror. A part of him felt relief, at the idea of handing over this tremendous, unfathomable burden to someone who might have the authority to handle it better – but the greater part of him knew that for this person to see House in all his weakness and vulnerability was likely more abhorrent to the diagnostician than if it was a stranger.

“Dr. Cuddy,” he whispered, eyes wide and trapped as he stared at her.

Cuddy was staring back at him, confused, incredulous, and very concerned when her eyes finally left his and focused on his patient, still struggling weakly on the bed. “Wilson…what…? What’s happened? What’s wrong with him?”

Wilson ignored her questions, his jaw setting stubbornly as he turned his back to her and returned his attention to House, who finally seemed to be surfacing from the overwhelming world of his nightmares. He felt a sense of irritation, but still said nothing, as Cuddy moved slowly to the foot of the gurney to get a better look at House.

“My God…”

She breathed out the words, staring at the dark bruises that covered every exposed inch of House’s skin – which, thankfully, was not much. Despite his struggles, House had not managed to shift the blanket that covered him all that much.

“House? Are you awake? Come on, look at me,” Wilson urged him as the other doctor’s struggles finally stilled. “Look at me, buddy, come on.”

Abruptly House opened his eyes, wide and startlingly blue amidst the discoloration that marred his face. He blinked sleepily, confused, as he took in the room around him, and Wilson, leaning over him anxiously.

“I…I don’t…” He shook his head, frowning in confusion. Finally, he answered his own question, concluding quietly, “It was…just a dream. Just…a nightmare, right?”

Wilson nodded, lowering his head slightly in relief – and allowing House to see past him to Cuddy, still standing at the foot of the bed. The sudden clenching of House’s arms under his hands, the utter stillness and silence of his friend, was the first thing to alert Wilson that something was wrong. He looked up, dark eyes questioning as he met House’s gaze again, and then followed it to its focus.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “House…it’s not…”

“Get out,” House whispered, his eyes never leaving Cuddy’s face, and Wilson was uncertain which of them he was talking to.

“House…she doesn’t…”

Cuddy interrupted Wilson before he could explain, frowning with concern as she said, “I just wanted to see if you were okay, House. I’m not…”

“Get. Out.”

“Dr. Cuddy,” Wilson began cautiously, noting the odd gleam in his friend’s eyes, the beginnings of angry, humiliated, frustrated tears that would only make things so much worse if the dean saw them, “Maybe you’d better step outside for a minute.”

Cuddy swallowed hard, House’s strange, frightening demeanor not lost on her, and after a moment’s hesitation she nodded reluctantly, stating, “I’ll just be right in the hall. I’ll give you two a minute…”

“House,” Wilson tried again, turning toward him as Cuddy started for the door. “I didn’t…”

“Are you deaf?” House snapped, his voice trembling dangerously, tears glistening on his cheeks as he met Wilson’s eyes, his own smoldering blue flames of rage. “I said get out!”

His heart ached at the sight of his friend’s tears, but Wilson shook his head firmly, glancing downward in apology before looking back up to meet House’s eyes, not without compassion in his own. “I…don’t think that’s a good idea right now…”

Suddenly, violently, House shook his hands off his arms, jerking away from Wilson as he lurched to the side of the bed, struggling to get to his feet. “I want you gone. I want you out of here, now!” he demanded, the last word turning into a near-shout of frustration.

“House…don’t…”

Dismayed as House tried to stand on the other side of the bed, only to drop immediately and painfully to his knees when his leg failed to support him, Wilson went around the bed, reaching down to help him up again. House was already pulling himself up on shaking arms, dragging himself to his feet with a weak, unsteady grip on the gurney, which looked in danger of toppling over at any moment.

“Get away,” he muttered, not looking at Wilson, his face streaked with tears as he struggled against his own injuries, and the pain of the betrayal he thought his friend had committed. “Get away from me. I trusted you…”

Wilson ignored him, determined to make him understand as he took House’s arm in his hand and tried to lift him to his feet. “House, you don’t get it. I didn’t…”

“Don’t freakin’ touch me!”

The words were a roar of fury and fear, as the older doctor pulled away from him, overcompensating as he started to fall backward, and accidentally yanking the gurney over onto its side with a terrific clatter of metal crashing against tile as he fell to a sitting position on the floor, letting out a cry of pain as his damaged body impacted with the hard floor.

Miraculously, the gurney’s wheels slid to the side as it fell, and it landed harmlessly on the floor, inches from House’s damaged body, without falling on him and causing him further damage. For a moment both men were utterly silent, surveying the results of their altercation with wide, stunned eyes. House finally stared up at Wilson, eyes wide and shell-shocked, shaking his head slightly in hurt and disbelief at Wilson’s perceived betrayal.

“House, I didn’t tell her. I don’t know how she knows, or how much she knows, but I didn’t tell her a word, I swear.” The words came out in a frantic, trembling rush, Wilson determined to get the truth into his friend’s head while he was quiet enough to hear it. “God, House, do you think I would do that to you?”

House was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was ragged, hushed, teetering dangerously on the edge of a sob. “Sorry,” he rasped out, his eyes averted, “if my faith in humanity’s not what it usually is. It’s taken a bit of a blow tonight.”

Wilson’s expression softened, melting with the tears that all at once streaked his face, as he dropped to his knees in front of his friend, reaching out instinctively to take his hands. House pulled away, weakly pushing at Wilson, shaking his head as he scooted back along the floor until his back was against the wall.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me…”

But Wilson persisted, gently, well aware that House was not afraid of Wilson physically harming him, but of his own emotional reaction to any tender touch at the moment – and that reaction needed to come, as hard as it might be. Wilson followed as House retreated, holding onto his hands as he shuffled forward on his knees.

“House…it’s all right…” he murmured, leaning in close, one hand trailing gently up and down House’s bare, bruised arm. “It’s okay…”

“Don’t…” House shook his head harder, his lower lip trembling slightly before he bit it to stop the telling motion, looking away as his tears flowed harder. “Don’t touch me…I don’t wanna…don’t wanna…”

His words dissolved as he lowered his head, his shoulders shaking with the almost violent onslaught of the sobs he had been repressing. Feeling shattered by the raw emotions of his friend, laid bare to his eyes and his eyes alone, Wilson allowed his own tears to flow as he moved closer, following his instincts as he turned so that his own back was to the wall beside House, and wrapped warm, protective arms around his friend’s shoulders.

“Shhh…it’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s over…it’s okay, you’re safe here…safe with me…”

Both men were acutely aware of the double meaning of his words, and House finally accepted that they were true, turning into his friend’s embrace, lowering his head to his shoulder and allowing Wilson to just hold him, there on the floor, as the sobs shook his body. Wilson pulled him closer, one hand running soothingly up and down his back – accepting and encouraging House’s open grief in his arms as the honor it really was.

He would allow no one else to see him like this.

“It’s okay…you’re safe…it’s all right, just let it out…”

House clung to him, allowing himself to be held, as he poured out his pain and shame with his tears, the two of them holding on for dear life in the midst of the debris that a single night of cruelty had left.

“Please…” House whispered, trembling hands rising to clutch Wilson to him. “D-don’t…don’t let go…don’t let go…”

“I won’t, House,” Wilson promised, blinking his own tears away to clear his vision, sniffling back a sob. “I won’t…you’re safe now…you’re safe…it’s over…it’s all over…”

But both knew that it was far from over.

In more ways than one, House’s nightmare was only just beginning.

TBC...