Not Guilty: Missing and extended scenes throughout the Tritter episodes. Something happened between House and Tritter, something more than we never heard about. How else can you explain House's odd behavior after the night he was arrested? This is my attempt to explain it. Warnings for my usual stuff, including OOC, AU, slash, child abuse, and a sexual assault.

Day One:

House stared up at the enormously tall paitent in a combination of shock and—he hated to admit—fear. It wasn't that he had never been attacked by a paitent before, but usually he had done something to deserve it. This guy didn't want to know what was causing his crotch to rot, or else he would have listened when the doctor gave him a plausible, clear, concise, and correct answer, that explained everything. The man didn't kick the cane out from under him to keep House in the room; he wanted more. When Greg looked at the man, he saw something terrifying in his eyes. If asked to describe it, he'd be at a rare loss for words, except to explain that he remembered the expression from his own childhood. It was the same face his father would make when he got mad at young Greg, right before he exploded.

"Run the test," Tritter ordered, but Dr. House didn't respond. He was a big boy now, and perfectly capable of fending for himself. No way I'm gonna let some moron who can't keep his hands to himself push me around…again. "Or I can bash your head into the wall until you're feeling more cooperative." The man flashed him a friendly smile, like it was all a joke. The doctor did as he was told, but he got back at the guy, because he was stronger now. He could stick up for himself, and he did.

XX

Later in the afternoon, Wilson noticed something unusual about his friend's gait. He had been limping for years, save for the three months this summer, but usually it was a stiffness in the man's thigh. Now he was practically skipping, as if refusing to put weight on any part of his right leg, upper, or lower. James suspected that his friend had injured his ankle or calf earlier that morning.

"Stop staring," House snapped, upset less with Jimmy, and more because of the paitent—why can't I stop thinking about that, he wondered. It was nothing—who had him frustrated and unnerved despite Greg's attempts to tell himself that it was not a big deal. "I can't pee with you watching me like I'm in on display. Know it's tempting and all, but we're in a public bathroom. Someone could walk in on us." Of course he knew why Wilson was looking at him this way. Obviously his banged up shin was very noticeable.

"What's up with that?" the brown-haired, pretty boy asked, gesturing towards his leg. "You're not still messing around with that damn skateboard, are you?" House's biggest concern wasn't Jimmy finding out that he'd gotten the crap beaten out of him by yet another paitent, but that he wouldn't believe the story, or worse, he'd say it was well deserved.

"I just lost my footing, tripped, and fell against a door in the clinic. Guess I'm still getting used to not being able to walk again." His answer was always the same, whether he was four or forty-four. It was always I fell and never he hit me. Greg wanted to tell, he did, but it wasn't that simple. It wouldn't help. As soon as Jimmy found out what he'd done with the thermometer, any pity he did have would fly out the window.

"Well, I guess you must not have seen the thing. The door makers must not mark them very well. Maybe they ought to be painted bright, neon colors, with a giant sign above it that says door."

"Oh shut up," he said, forcing a small smile. He flushed, and went to wash his hands, still skip-stepping. He was half hoping Wilson would leave him alone, the other half desperately needing to talk about what had happened, and ask—beg—for help.

"Can I take a look at your leg?" he asked, following the older man into to his office. Greg shrugged, sitting in a chair by the door, putting his feet up. Jimmy rolled his pant leg up slightly, prodded and poked the sore spot, and tested his rang of motion. "Doesn't appear to be broken, but you're gonna half one hell of a bruise. Should probably get an x-ray just to be sure."

"I'm fine; go away." Only, that was the last thing he really wanted. Wilson sighed, touching Greg's hand. "You got a paitent coming in pretty soon?" Jimmy smiled gently, as if to say, she can wait, but she couldn't, and apparently neither could Greg's. Soon Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were all in the office needing to talk to him.

"We're not done talking about this, got it?" James asked on his way out. Again Greg nodded, looking away, and trying his best not to look too pathetic. "Call me when you get off work."

XXX

Some time after that, Cuddy yelled him, and then forced House to go into her office to talk to the man. Then, she left. Rather than admit to being scared, apologize, or do anything else to make the giant happy, he acted like himself. He wouldn't apologize. He wouldn't cry. He'd take his punishment like a man, no matter what that might be, but he wouldn't allow himself to be bullied into doing anything this creep wanted.

"If you've come to return the thermometer, it's okay. I've moved on." Greg couldn't help but notice how Tritter had gone from being across the room to standing extremely close to him in seconds, and stood, poised for an attack. "Here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna tell my boss I kissed your ass, and you're gonna brag to your buddies about how you made the big, bad, scary doctor cry, but this is the kicker. We're both gonna be lying. So, can we agree to just cut the crap and go back to work?"

"Relax, Dr. House, I don't want to sue you," he chuckled again, reaching out to touch the man's face. Greg swatted his hand away, but pretended to be smiling all the same.

"Good," he said, weakly, pathetically, hating how much he felt like that same, sad, scared, little five-year-old boy. Tritter still looked happy, and it was making him extreamly uncomfortable. You're supposed to be suspicious of people who smiled that much, because they are almost always dangerous.

"I wanna kick your ass," he said, his face still just as happy, and terrifying as always. Crap, he thought. Maybe I can break his arm or something with my cane, give myself a head start, and get to my office before he can touch me.

"Less good." House's heart was beating like a hummingbird. He was terrified, and his leg was hurting even worse than usual, but managed he to think his way into speaking. "But you'll settle for an apology?" The man nodded. "Doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for sincerity."

"I don't care if it's sincere. I just wanna see you humiliated. Or," he grabbed the doctor by the shoulders, pressing tightly against him. House felt his stomach drop. "We can come up with something else, a way to…even the score." Once again he came up with a witty retort, and limped off, before anything too terrible could happen. He finished his work, solved the case, and went out to the parking lot, with absolutely no plan to call Wilson. The only thing he wanted to do was go home, swallow a fist full of Vicodin and half a bottle of bourbon, then lay on the sofa staring at the TV for the rest of the night.

XXXX

He drove faster than he should have, trying to get to his apartment as quickly as humanly possible. Until he heard the siren behind him. Dr. Gregory House pulled his bike over to the side of the road, climbed off, trying to make himself look as pathetic as possible, by clutching his bad leg, leaving the cane in its place just in case the idiot cop thought he was trying to use it as a weapon. Alright, it's not a big deal. Just a speeding ticket. Don't say anything obnoxious and you'll probably get away with a warning. Maybe. Hopefully. Then he saw the police officer's face, and enormous stature. Ohh crap!

"If you had bothered to look at my file, you'd have known that I'm a detective." It's just like I said, he thought to himself. He's got you no speeding, nothing else. Not a big deal. Don't antagonize him, and the bastard won't be able to touch you.

"This is your big revenge? A speeding ticket? I wasn't driving over 60, which means that even if you lie about how fast I was going, it'll only cost me, at most, a hundred bucks. You should just let me go, otherwise, might make you look vindictive."

"Well, doctor, if you must know, I didn't pull you over to issue a speeding ticket." Greg gulped. He can't do this. Obviously the guy's on duty. He can't take you anywhere for—he can't do it in the car, or at the police station because that would just be stupid. He'd get caught and/or leave DNA. "You took a pill, while you were examining me. That's serious, addictive behavior." House barred his teeth, trying to stay calm as the cop grabbed his arms, pushing them up behind his head, twisting hard.

"What are you gonna do?" he croaked. Tritter laughed again, touching him some more, this time squeezing Greg's shoulder. I haven't done anything wrong, he whispered to himself, like a child, knowing that even if the giant heard him, he wouldn't agree.

You're a bad little boy, and I absolutely have to do this to you, Greg. Believe it or not, little guy, this hurts me a whole lot more than it hurts you.

Greg felt himself gulp as the man slipped his hand into is front pants pocket. "I bet you're carrying right now." Hands went everywhere. Greg swallowed hard, nervously, and hated it. But I did nothing wrong, he wanted to told Tritter something obnoxious, sarcastic, and rude. "Got a prescription for these?" the cop asked, after spending far too long patting him down, slipping fingers in places where he couldn't possibly have kept pills.

"I'm a cripple, who works in a hospital! Don't you think I could get a valid prescription," he barked, attempting to save face. Please, please, he thought. There's got to be hundreds of people driving by. Just let one of them see us, and stop. I can't go through this again.

"Arrogant bastard like you, I doubt you even bother." I hate you, House thought pitifully, but he wasn't 100% certain which you to whom he was referring, himself, his father, the cop, or… "Greg House, you are under arrest for possession of a controlled substance. You have the right to remain silent, which I suggest, you exercise." Tritter placed a finger over Greg's quivering lips. "Although, there might be a way to work things out, and not have to worry about you getting into too much trouble." He almost agreed. He almost closed is eyes, behaved himself, and pretended like none of this was really happening.

"Get your fucking hands off of me, or I'll sue you," he swore, swinging is cuffed arms at the jerk. But he fell to the ground, and Tritter kicked him in the ribs, and reached down with his nightstick, slamming it into the doctor's shoulder, hard. Greg heard a snap, and pain exploded all through his right arm.

"That can't be good," the detective chuckled some more, pushing the doctor into the back seat of his squad car.

"What are you gonna do to me?" House heard himself ask in that terrified, child-like voice, one he hadn't used in years. He couldn't stand himself.

"I think we'll have more fun if we keep that one a surprise," Tritter told him, as he pulled away from the curb. House stared out the window, first watching his bike, trying not to let himself imagine what would happen next, and then turned to look at the street signs, attempting to pinpoint his location. He still had his cell phone, and technically would be able to call Jimmy, stop this, save himself. Maybe. Greg had been to the local police station two or three times before, and he knew that they were not headed for the precinct. And, as the car pulled into the parking lot of sleazy looking motel, House allowed himself a single, silent tear, before he closed his eyes, and attempted to shut off his brain.