Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of its characters.

A/N: Okay, so this is kinda dark. It also isn't for Foreman lovers. He's quite messed up. But don't worry, he isn't completely evil or anything. If you don't like Foreman, like me, then read on. Although I enjoy like reviews, if you're going to complain about my Foreman abuse, you were forewarned. That was my angry face = haha, just kidding. Just read and enjoy and review (of course). I apologize for mistakes and such. Blah, blah... you know the drill.

Chapter 1: Bat Country

"I'll make a beast out of myself

Gets rid of all the pain of being a man"

- Avenged Sevenfold

Silence. Some people can't stand it, but others find immense comfort in the lack of sound. They find it easier to control and twist into their lives. Silence is hardly alone, though. Sounds always accompany it. Sounds are always associated with it. The chirping of cricket, the ticking of a clock, the dripping of a leaky faucet. They are considered silence, even though they technically aren't. They are the opposite of silence; they are sound.

This, though, this was silence. Not a sound. There were no chirping crickets. No ticking clocks. No leaky faucets. Just the lack of sound drifting lazily through the air. Brown eyes gave a last glance before darting out the open window. The owner of the big, brown eyes closed the window after them, easing it down as to not destroy the perfect silence. A person only comes across that silence every once in a blue moon. He inhaled a large gulp of air and descended the fire escape and onto the noisy city street.

"Hey. Where've you been?" Thirteen tossed at Foreman as she checked the patient's vitals.

"I had to run back home. I forgot that I left a pot on the stove." Foreman answered as he wiped the imaginary sweat from his brow. "How's she doing?"

"She's much better, the treatment's working. She'll be able to be discharged by tomorrow at the latest. Wish I could say the same for her husband."

"It doesn't matter. He's not our responsibility. He came here dying with an incurable disease. You know we can't cure the incurable." He gave Thirteen's hand a squeeze and left her to finish the check-up.

Warm air tickled his arm as it hung lazily out the window. His other arm was wrapped dispassionately around the steering wheel. With closed eyes, Foreman thought back to his childhood. The haunting images of his poor neighborhood, his trouble-making brother, and his creepy next door neighbor. He nearly jumped as a horn went off behind him. The light had turned green. Foreman tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stomped on the gas.

"Whoa! Eric, I'm pretty sure there's no need to go so fast." Thirteen exclaimed after the rapid acceleration. "I don't think Kutner's in any immediate danger." He gave Thirteen a pitiful smile in reply to her joking tone.

They had been sent to find out where Kutner was. He never showed up for work that morning and House was angry. After being lied to by Taub about Kutner's whereabouts, House was pissed with Kutner. Though nobody believed he would, House threatened to fire Kutner. He also ordered Thirteen and Foreman to find him so that he could fire him in person. Thirteen didn't see any real need to find Kutner quickly. She wasn't in any hurry to see the end of his career.

Foreman, too caught up in his past memories, didn't give a rat's ass what Kutner was up to. He had never really been too close to him. Sure, they worked together, but he never talked to him outside of work like he did with Taub and Thirteen. His mind couldn't stay on that topic for too long, though. Kutner wasn't someone he enjoyed spending time thinking about.

"I think this is it up on the left." Thirteen pointed out and Foreman eased on the breaks. They got out of the car and checked the buzzer names of the apartment building. "Hmm… Smith, nope, Fredrickson, nope, aha! Kutner, number 503." She pressed lightly on the button, but there was no response. No buzz, no sound that the action had even occurred. She pressed harder this time and even harder the time after that, but still nothing happened.

"The buzzing system isn't working." Foreman bluntly stated.

"You don't say?" Thirteen said sarcastically. She tried the door and found that it wasn't locked. "Wow, safe isn't it?"

"501…502…503!" Thirteen counted as she passed each door, stopping in front of the one that belonged to Kutner. She knocked loudly on the door, but no answer came.

"He's not here. Why don't we try his parents' house?" Foreman said as he began to walk away from the blue/black door.

"House told us to find where he is, not where he isn't."

"There's no way in. Unless you feel like climbing a five story fire escape…?"

"Or, we could just use this," Thirteen raised her hand and flashed a key at Foreman. She smiled as he dragged his feet to where she was standing. A breath hitched in Foreman's throat as Thirteen slowly twisted the door knob. The world seemed to slow as the door swung open and the pristine silence was shattered.

With clenched teeth, Foreman followed Thirteen into Kutner's apartment. The silence. The sweet, sweet silence. Broken. Footsteps thundered on the hardwood floor. Air rushing in and out of needy lungs. Oh, and her voice. So grating. It shaved the silence into a fine dust. A fine dust that rose and drifted through the air, waiting to settle again. Foreman mumbled responses to Thirteen's comments as he grasped for his memories.

So often pushed away, his memories were not easily delved into. They resisted his want as he pushed himself into them. They fought, they punched, kicked, but they failed. Foreman couldn't stay in the present. He never returned. Never. Not to his memories nor his "handy work". His body was on autopilot as her voice screeched its response to his "handy work". But this didn't reach his brain. No, his brain was back at the age of six. Back to the memories he had been fighting against for the past two months. But what was worse? Where the horrible began, or where the horrible had landed him? He choose the first one, knowing that he couldn't see it again.

"Foreman, buddy, why are you doing this? C'mon, don't do this. I won't tell a soul. Not a one. Just please… I don't want to die." A voice begged Foreman. Foreman shook his head. The memories, from when he was six, were fading. They were being over run by the memories of the other night. The night that occurred in the very apartment he stood in now. They griped him by the shoulders and shook him with such intensity that his vision grew blurry.

A gloved hand. Black and elegant, sleek and smooth. It seemed to melt into the gun that it was wrapped around. A single finger found its way to the lower part, teasing the trigger. It hindered slightly as the voice pleaded on.

"Foreman, buddy, why are you doing this? C'mon, don't do this. I won't tell a soul. Not a one. Just please… I don't want to die." Kutner's voice was rushed, hurried. So different than its usual tone. Foreman was still marveled by how people changed in the face of death.

Foreman pressed the gun barrel to Kutner's temple. Only a small whimper escaped into the stale air. "I'm sorry…" The trigger was teased no more. It pulled back fully as if its only purpose was served.

Sound. Loud and vibrant. The gun's bang, The body's thump as it hit the ground. The ting as the gun dropped. The blood as it poured onto the floor. The raspy breath coming out of Foreman's mouth. Then… Silence. That beautiful silence. Oh, how he loved that lack of sound.

"He's cold. Eric, he's cold."

Foreman shuddered as his body seemed to transport to present time. He looked down at his bloody hands, his dead colleague. He wished he could go back to that silence. To the first silence he ever heard

How'd you like it? Should I continue? Review... I'll be waiting (mwahaha) =P