This idea is the result of watching House and reading books of a supernatural nature simultaneously. Also with a little inspiration from a certain writer by the name of Sinister Scribe. She doesn't know me, but I love her work, and you all should check it out as well if you haven't already. Anyways… Enjoy!
The clouds were angry tonight, unleashing their fury in a downpour of stinging icy droplets. Lighting crackled in the atmosphere and thunder growled a low warning to the dwellers of Princeton. The very sky demanded you remain indoors or face its wrath.
Gregory House was never the kind of man to heed a warning, and so he found himself plodding along the streets. His burning frustration did nothing to keep away the cold rain that soaked his clothes, causing them to cling uncomfortably like a second skin. The weather matched his mood, stormy frustration; the howling wind expressed the screaming pain in his mangled thigh.
The leg, quick to issue a grumbling complaint with every move he made, had now begun a solid roar of displeasure, occasionally sending a bolt of pure agony up his spine. He leaned heavily on his cane, hoping for a reprieve that the tool just wouldn't give. He hated the thing, and its black wood seemed to absorb his hatred and glow, mocking him with it.
His right hand gripped the smooth handled in a white knuckle grip as the wood creaked in protest. His other reached into his jeans pocket for the umpteenth time, as if the vial of bitter white pills that numbed the pain, numbed him, would suddenly appear between now and the last time he had checked. He unleashed a low growl of frustration, and then glanced around him, his laser blue eyes scouring the landscape. He felt uneasy, like he was being watched, but shrugged it off and continued walking.
His handsome features were twisted strangely, part vicious scowl, part grimace of pain. At first one would just assume he was a wild card, angry at the world and everyone in it. Very few, if anyone, got to really know him, to look into those endless blue eyes and see the spirit, once so beautiful and free, now crippled and broken, but not quite tamed, not yet.
His eyes lit on a small copse of trees sheltering a relatively dry patch of land, and after a moments deliberation, he decided it would be an okay place to hole up until the worst of the storm passed. If he was completely honest with himself, it was mostly so he could find a place to collapse, because with the way his body shook there was no way in hell he was making it to his apartment.
The lights of the street barely touched the edge of the trees, and he hoped it would be as dry as he hoped. Painfully clearing the small curb, he set off across the spongy turf and making a beeline for his target. His cane was sucked into the drenched earth with every step with a wet plopping noise that punctuated the squelching of his sneakers with each step. Squelch-squelch-plop. Repeat.
He focused on his steps, their rhythm the only thing keeping him on his feet until he reached shelter. So intense was his focus, that his heart skipped a beat in his chest when the rhythm suddenly changed. Squelch-squelch-plop-THUD. The near boom shook the ground somewhere behind him and to his left, and he halted his movement for a moment, tilting his ear in that direction, sure that his weary mind was playing tricks on him.
Lightning crashes overhead, drowning out any other sound, and he shakes off that strange feeling of being watched. He's nearly to the trees now, and he begins to grasp just exactly how dark and out of the way his "shelter" is. A car passes on the road, and its headlights don't touch him, just rolls past, probably carrying its passenger home, out of this wicked rain.
Suddenly the sound is back again, only instead of one loud thud far away, there are more, each in quick succession, moving closer. His heart breaks into a gallop in his chest, and he begins to limp faster, not quite running, simply because his leg won't allow it. His rational mind stumbles over itself, attempting to calm him down. Just a dog, if you ignore it, it will go away. Or it could be nothing, just you imagining things in the dark. His overly brilliant mind worked against itself. First, you haven't had nearly enough Vicodin to be hallucinating, and second, there sure as hell was something out there, and it was definitely not a dog. Not an ordinary one anyway. Before he could puzzle out what that meant, the speed of the thuds increased, drew closer, until he felt sure it was right behind him.
He felt hot breath on the back of his neck, and every hair on his body stood up. "Oh shit." The words escaped his lips before he could stop them, and the thing behind him rumbled darkly, sounding oddly like a chuckle. He stopped and looked ahead, at the stand of trees that now seemed far out of reach. He drew in a steadying breath, drawing from a reserve of courage he hadn't know he had, and turned around…
The beast loved nights like this, not many people out, the rain providing camouflage from unwanted eyes. It hunted with near impunity, stalking out its unfortunate prey with barely controlled prejudice. In its mind, running on a much baser level, more instinctual and less human, it barely paused to be sure the risk of discovery was low before pouncing. But that was only when it was hungry.
Tonight it sought a game, a new plaything. As it slunk along a mostly quiet road, it spotted its next game. Its prey appeared to be weak, leaning heavily on a cane, eliciting its predatory instinct. It padded along silently behind the human, smelling anger and frustration rolling off of him in waves, almost overpowered by a deep well of pain and sadness. Suddenly the human looked about, and the beast quickly faded into a nearby shadow, easily evading the man's notice.
Its new game suddenly decided to make things easy for the beast, and it nearly pouted as the man turned away from the lights of the road, headed for a secluded copse of trees. Exhaustion now exuded from the man's every pore, and he seemed to be having trouble staying on his feet. The beast decided to alert the man to his presence and no longer softened his steps, instead allowing his enormous paws to beat into the ground loudly. It heard the stutter in the man's heartbeat and increased his pace, momentarily silenced by the snarling thunder.
It drew closer to the man, hearing his heart begin to speed in his chest as he tried to move faster, still slower than a snail's pace compared with the beasts easy power and speed. It was now just behind the man, the beast's great head looming above the man, so it dropped its nose slightly, angling his head down, literally breathing down the man's neck. The beast was surprised at what it smelled, the mans scent was so fresh from the rain, spicy and spiked with testosterone. He could detect a hint of something bitter in the man's blood, a drug, probably used to handle the pain. Up close, what had already been strong was now overpowering, pure sour tang of agony pounded through the humans veins with every beat of his heart.
The beast felt a moment of admiration for the humans staggering stamina. It required a certain strength to live through such pain, and it was obvious that this human had it in spades. The human had halted now, a curse bursting from his lips, and the beast rumbled in amusement. He was beginning to feel the stirrings of respect for this human.
Suddenly the man heaved a deep breath, seeming to draw something into himself from the very air, and turned around to face the beast. Surprise flooded through it, followed quickly by shock, as the respect for the man was cemented in place. Never had its prey faced the beast head on, and in an instant, the beast changed his course of action. This human would not do for a quick meal or game, so instead of taking something from the man, he would give him something instead.
The man's face was etched with lines born of dealing with endless pain for an extended period of time. There was weariness in his eyes, but also a challenge. His body was strong, his broad shoulders set and his posture stood tall, leaning slightly to the left. Yes, this human would do.
Okay so that's chapter one. I've got chapter two in my head, so It'll probably be done tonight or sometime tomorrow. I've listed this as House and Cuddy, but Cuddy won't be appearing for another chapter or so, and I think my main focus will be on House. No promises though. Oh and for the purposes of this story, I'm fiddling with the age to make them a bit younger, so House is around 35, and Cuddy is 30, but the infarction already happened, and Stacy has come back and been booted out on her ass again. That's about all the backstory that I know for sure right now. Hope you enjoyed reading, leave a review on your way out! Thanks