Disclaimer: I own nothing related to House, M.D.
A/N: Here is my newest story, loosely inspired by a movie (kudos to anyone that can guess which - you may have to wait a few chapters though) and a song (major kudos to anyone that can get this one!). I hope you enjoy. Please read and review; I love knowing what you think!
A/N: A few people to thank...First, Abby. She may not even read this, but she helped me so much in fleshing out the idea. Second, Melissa, my lovely beta reader. Thanks for all of your help and nit-pickiness that made this story what it is. Your eye for detail never ceases to amaze me.
It was loud. People pushed past her, screaming, yelling, calling out to family members as they pounded down the twelve flights of stairs. The roar of the flames consuming the vulnerable wood rang in her ears. Her own breath, heavy inhales and exhales, seemed ten times louder than normal and she could almost hear her frantic heart pounding in her chest over the chaos that was everything else. She stood up slowly from her spot on the stairwell landing, not wanting to crash into the stampede of people rushing past her to get out. She leaned against the banister, flattening herself against it, not wanting to be trampled. Sweat trickled down her face, soaking into her long ponytail, as she brushed back stray hairs from her face.
The vibration on her hip caused her to look down. Her pager was going off. She quickly unclasped it from her belt and pressed a button to make the vibration stop. Looking up, she realized it was her chance to get out; the stairs were relatively clear. She raced down the steps, feeling the heat soaking into her skin as she ran. She could feel the pager vibrating in her hands again as she passed the landing between the seventh and sixth floors. She willed it to stop, because she couldn't call just yet.
She had just passed the landing between the fifth and fourth floors when it happened. The roar was louder, the flames were hotter, and suddenly there was nothing but a loud explosion in her ears. She fought for the banister, but there no longer was a banister next to her. She was falling, suddenly, losing the ground beneath her. She thought she might have cried out, but she couldn't be sure because she couldn't hear herself over the noise. She might have screamed, but if she had, no one had heard her. Or if they had heard her, not one had listened.
But there might have been shrieks of fear from people around her when they realized exactly what was happening. There might have been children crying and fathers yelling and old women screaming and praying to God that they would make it out alive. Their voices tuned in and out like an old radio, mixing with the horrible sound of the flames consuming the old wood of the staircase.
There might have been a cat staring at her with unblinking green eyes from the arms of one of the teenage girls. There might have been a golden retriever puppy squirming in the arms of a young man wearing a sweatshirt. There might have been families ignoring her as they made mad dashes for the exit, trampling through over the rubble on their way out. There might have been no one to notice her at all.
But there might have been one man crying out to her, an older man with an unshaven face and startlingly blue eyes, who did care what happened to her. He might have been reaching out to her, trying to grasp her hand as she fell further and further away from him. She might have called his name, trying desperately to hold onto anything and everything she could, but she might have found there was nothing to hold on to. She might have screamed his name, horror filling her voice, as she realized how dire her situation was. But she was completely alone. She might have tried to reach him one last time, her wide eyes searching his concerned blue ones, but she soon shut them to avoid the ash and burning dust cascading down on her. She might have fallen completely into darkness.
He might have yelled her name, might even have considered going after her himself. He might have been told by people that would know better than he that it was impossible, that nothing could be done, but he might not have listened. He might have slapped them, might have punched them, might have fought tooth and nail to get to her.
He might have loved her.
She might have stopped him. Maybe she shouldn't have stopped him. Maybe she should have. Maybe she should have agreed them that the situation was hopeless. Maybe she couldn't see what had happened to her. She might have been blinded by the falling wood that burned her flesh. Maybe she couldn't think straight. She might have crashed hard onto the solid ground and broken her hip. She might have been crushed by falling furniture. She might have been trapped in a pit of hungry flames. Maybe she wasn't conscious at all. She might have been knocked unconscious by her fall. She might have hit her head. She might have been unable to breathe.
She might have already have died.