Warning: This fic contains rape, violence & sex - non-graphic, but still disturbing.

Consequences

Amber Volakis first saw I Spit On Your Grave when she was sixteen. She had been hanging around a group of boys in Wildwood, all of whom she'd thoroughly trounced at pool earlier in the day. The oldest of the group, who must have been in his early twenties, proceeded to, after a few drinks, tell her that she'd never make it through the movie.

"You'll scream and cry," he'd taunted. "'Cause you're just a little girl."

About halfway through the film, the younger boys in the group were curled up into the couch, shielding their eyes and whimpering under their breath. Amber had looked over at them with an unreadable look on her face.

"If you're not gonna eat this popcorn, I will."

"You'd be willing to go to jail for Dr. House?" Detective Michael Tritter inquired, blue eyes wide in a combination between wonder and a predatory leer. His voice was perfectly calm, just as it always was – no need to get worked up about anything.

Unless you were Dr. Wilson.

"Yes, I would," Wilson replied quietly, and he knew that if Amber was here she'd be kicking him in the head – he was glad he'd only told her the broad strokes of the whole Tritter debacle, mainly the part involving why she needed to keep driving him to work.

"What else would you do to keep Dr. House out of jail?" Tritter continued. His voice was light, floating, and content; Wilson's skin was crawling. He looked around, trying to snap himself out of the trance in which he seemed to have found himself. He tried desperately to remember exactly why he was in this car with this man who he certainly did not trust. And then he remembered – he had made a deal and traded in his friend, and was trying to back out of it.

That, and Tritter's fingertips and then his palm were beginning to creep up his thigh.

"Not testify?" Wilson's voice nearly squeaked out against the night.

"How about this?"

The voice was still hovering in the air and Wilson tried to fight but couldn't get away. What happened next was stark, clear in that haze of confusion but he wished that it wasn't – the detective's hands were all over him now, pressing him against the car seat and Wilson was pressed painfully against the door. He could hear himself yelling and see red, nothing but bright, sharp red.

Like a sunset.

Or a nuclear bomb going off.

When it was over – was it? – Tritter pulled up in front of Amber's apartment and opened the passenger door, giving Wilson a rough shove out. Wilson stumbled on the concrete and nearly fell but managed to hobble up to the door. His nose felt like it'd be taken over by the metallic smell pooling in his nostrils; he was bleeding.

He couldn't find his key. He started crying as he fished in his pockets, his wallet, everything hurt and it wasn't anywhere.

The door opened and Amber was standing there, staring at him.

"James, what the hell? Oh my God, what happened to you?"

House was watching the season finale of Dexter when his door opened and Amber appeared. She hadn't even bothered to knock.

"I need a favor," she said simply, and disappeared out into the night again, carrying one of his canes. He considered going after her, but Dexter's hot sister was tied up with duct tape on screen, and it'd be impolite to just leave her there.

"I'm sorry Miss…"

"Doctor, actually. Dr. Volakis."

"But the case involving Dr. House has been closed." Tritter's teeth glittered against the background of his office. "I don't need your information."

"Oh?" Amber inquired, letting her coat drop just enough to show off a flash of red satin bra. "I think you do."

"Dr. Volakis… I guess I could use your… perspective." He leered. "We could discuss this matter further in my office." He turned and disappeared; she followed without asking permission.

Tritter locked the door. Amber gave a coy smile and unbuttoned her blouse.

"You see, I'd like Dr. House to go away for a very long time," she sang out, licking her lips.

Tritter's hands wasted no time in cupping her breasts and running his tongue over her pink nipples. Amber's hands lazily reached behind her.

"You know what I really like?" she whispered seductively. "Asphyxiation play."

"You want me to choke you?" Tritter asked, looking up at her, utterly confused but nonetheless turned on.

"No."

Amber pulled the cane from her bag in one quick motion, pressing it horizontally against Tritter's throat like she'd practiced all night. With the element of surprise in her favor, she easily shoved him up against his wall as she cut off his breath. His hands grappled, panicked, for her, and she smiled.

"Here's what's going to happen, Detective. You're going to turn yourself in for what you did to Wilson. You're going to plead guilty so he won't have to testify." She pushed the cane harder against his windpipe. "And if you don't do these things, first I will report your sorry ass for what you did to him, and then I will come back and bash you in the head with this cane, which may or may not kill you but will certainly hurt like a bitch. You getting this?" Tritter nodded frantically. "Oh, and you'll close your little investigation on Dr. House – for real, this time. Either that, or you leave town tonight where neither Wilson nor House has to ever see your face again? Either way, you get the fuck out of our sight for good. You got it?" He nodded again, and Amber pulled off the cane before swinging it as hard as she could into Tritter's shin.

Without a word, she strutted over to the door while buttoning her shirt, and opened it before walking out of the station.

On her way home, Amber dropped by House's and handed the cane back to him with a smile.

"Thank you for letting me borrow it," she told him, before turning and walking back to her car.

That night, Amber flicked through the channels, running her hand through Wilson's hair as he let his head rest in her lap, his eyes closed.

"I know it hurts, baby," she whispered sympathetically, "But the ER said you can't have more than four pills in an hour."

"Sorry, Amber," Wilson murmured pitifully, "I know you don't want to see me like this."

"I love you, okay?" she hissed back, stroking his forehead. "And I'm with you on this. And I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again."

Wilson opened his eyes and looked up at her. Something in her eyes made him believe her, but was also sowing a small seed of fear of his girlfriend deep inside him. It was too much to fight with himself over at the moment, though, so he let his eyes slip closed again as he snuggled up against her legs.

"Oh look, James," Amber said as she pressed a button on the remote with her free hand. "I Spit On Your Grave's on… And look, we're just in time to catch the second half."

END