Disclaimer- I don't own House, M.D. or any of its characters, and it's highly unlikely I ever will. But it's ok to hope…
-Chapter One-
Landing Hard
His leg exploded into pain on impact, and he staggered a few steps before falling to the ground. He felt as if it was on fire, and as if that weren't enough, waves of nausea threatened to purge him of the lunch he had inveigled Foreman into buying. He lay on the ground, dazed, and half conscious. His injured leg hurt more than it did this morning, and someone was screaming. It sounded like they were in extreme agony. Gradually, he realized that the person screaming was him, and stopped. It took more effort than he thought it would. House raised his eyes to the open window one story above him, and cursed himself for jumping. But he still wouldn't have stayed in the patient's room even if he hadn't been fired at by a crazed teenager (who had excellent marksmanship, he noted wryly). His analysis had proved that the patient had a highly infectious disease, and now that a treatment had been administered, there was nothing to do but wait. Too bad the patient hadn't given him a chance to inform him of this. No doubt the boy would look out the window to see if he had survived, he reminded himself, there was no point in waiting to be seen by someone who wanted him dead.
House scanned the area around him, searching for his cane. He found it not too far from where he fell, and half-dragging himself, he managed to make his way to it. Lying next to his cane was his pager, broken from the fall. Eyes tearing with pain, he propped himself up with his cane, into a position he could stand from. Somehow, he managed to stagger around the corner of the building before his legs gave out. Slumped against the west wall of the Princeton-Plainsbourough Teaching Hospital, House briefly closed his eyes. He could see the entrance from here, and someone was bound to spot him soon enough. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his bottle of Vicodin tablets, and popped it open. There were only two left. He popped his usual dosage into his mouth and swallowed. As an afterthought, he slid the other pill into his shaking hand, and downed that, too. Almost immediately, he felt the pain recede to a point where he no longer felt dizzy. He leaned over, and reached for his right leg, feeling for the breaks he knew he'd find.
He found them almost immediately. He'd definitely broken his ankle, and, by the way he'd fallen, most probably fractured his tibia. No, he decided after his brief inspection, the broken bones meant that he couldn't stay in one spot and wait for someone to discover him. He attempted to stand, but his broken leg buckled under him. House gave a growl of frustration as he sank back down to the ground. A minute passed, and he summoned his strength, trying again to regain his feet. This time, he managed to keep his weight off of his right ankle. Slowly, he shifted his weight to his cane, and shuffled his left foot forwards. The sharp throbbing in his leg didn't flare up as much if he leaned against the wall.
Finally, after what seemed hours, he reached the sliding doors, and stepped through. He found himself in the clinic. Most of the patients turned to stare at him. He didn't even have the energy, nor the wish to justify his sudden appearance. Instead, he turned to an elderly lady holding a pair of crutches.
"Hello. My name is Dr. Gregory House. I need these for a minute." He grabbed the crutches, using them to make his way over to the main desk.
"Dr. House? Are you alright?" The secretary was surprised to see him standing there, pale, shaking, and not during the time he had been scheduled for clinic duty.
"The patient in room D237, Kevin Zalinski, has a loaded gun. I've broken my leg. My pager is lying in pieces under Kevin's window. I'm out of Vicodin. No, I'm not ok. Page Foreman and Cameron for me, tell them to meet me in my office after I get the bones in my leg set. And tell Chase that he gets be the one to sedate Mr. Zalinski."