A/N: Takes place early Season 6- may contain spoilers from anything before. Also, uh, major character death.
He didn't usually pack up his things alone. He looked at his wedding band, letting the fluorescent light catch it. No, usually she'd be there with him, and they'd be laughing at some trivial little thing that had happened during one of their shifts.
He pulled his jacket out of the locker, swinging the metal door shut. He'd have to wait a little longer today. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made his way over to the ER, where he found her rushing between patients, the dyed blonde strands that had escaped her ponytail hanging loosely around her face. She didn't seem to have noticed his presence.
"Hey."
She looked up, her bright green eyes quickly landing on his face. "Hey," she said, eyebrows raising up. She walked over, tucking one of the escapees behind an ear.
"Staying late tonight?" he asked, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips.
She looked quickly over her shoulder at the med bay, which was about three patients from being overcrowded. "Yeah. I thought I'd put in a little more time here before we head back to the team."
He sighed, nodding. It felt surreal, rejoining the diagnostics department after three years. "I can't believe we're really going back."
She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. "We'll be running around, solving the unsolvable... and plus," she said, leaning in, "we'll be doing it together."
He could feel the corners of his mouth turning up as well. He would have her with him the whole day. "You're right, it should be fun."
A shadow passed over her face, hesitance freezing her features. "By the way... after my shift, I'm going to go stop by House's place, make sure he's settled okay after coming back."
Right, House had been back from the psychiatric hospital for days and she was already falling into his arms. He knew she cared about practically everything and everyone. He just wished that the diagnostician was excluded.
She seemed to have sensed what he was thinking, because she stuck her left hand in the air, showing off her ring with a pointed look. "Don't worry, I won't be gone for long. I'll be back in your arms before you know it."
He nodded, knowing he couldn't change her mind if he tried. Besides, whatever time was lost would quickly be made up for. "Okay. I'll see you in a few hours, then." He wrapped his arms around her for too brief a moment, before making his way out of the hospital.
The night was cold for the time of year, and Chase found himself wrapping his jacket tighter around his body as he reached his car. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad would happen soon, like there was a dark cloud over his head watching his every move. It was probably just jitters. He was nervous about going back. It made sense. He let the key sit in the ignition a moment, shaking his head before driving away. Maybe he'd just pour himself a drink.
Each slow, ragged breath that pushed past his lips was painful, as if his body were being set on fire from the inside. they were real. they were real, and they weren't going to leave him alone. He could soothe the pain, take the edge off it. they were sure to keep reminding him of that fact.
It was right there, in its sleek plastic container, sitting on the coffee table. His arm was shaking when he reached out for it, fingers closing around the small bottle. He thumbed over the label, imprinting the words to his memory. House, Gregory. Hydrocodone. He could hear the whispering, taunting, telling him to take a pill, just one. He wasn't sure if it was Them speaking or his internal voice screaming so loud it could almost be heard.
How could he? He had just gotten clean. He had detoxed, gotten rid of the hallucinations. He had thought that they were hallucinations also. Thought the beatings, the threats, none of that was real. And in the psych hospital, he had finally felt at peace. But while Amber and Kutner had disappeared, they were still here, waiting for him when he came home.
Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe the Vicodin had nothing to do with it. Maybe he should just stay at Mayfield, forget about coming back, ever working as a doctor again.
Three knocks at the door. Someone was here. He threw the pill bottle under the couch before limping over to the door, his usual hopping gait seeming more exaggerated than usual. It must be Wilson. He had been told to keep an eye on him, to visit frequently to prevent a self-destructive spiral. When Wilson was here, he could pretend they never were. They wouldn't touch him when he was with him. He was safe, if only for a moment.
He unlatched the door, pulling it wide open, and almost had a heart attack. Cameron. What was she doing here?
He could see her eyes scanning him up and down, slowly widening as she took it all in. He knew he was a mess, thanks to them. He avoided looking at mirrors because of what he knew he would see. A hollow stick of a man, the life sucked right out.
A slight pallor came into her usually rosy cheeks, her hand reaching for her cell phone. He could see the small silver band wrapped around her ring finger. They had gotten married, hadn't they? When he was away.
He didn't know what would happen if she came in. No one besides Wilson had even stopped by. It was better not to test them. If they got unhappy... who knows what could happen.
She was on the phone now, calling Chase, no doubt, saying she'd be a little later than anticipated. He took the opportunity to try and shut the door.
Wham. She had wedged an arm into the gap and was now apologizing for the sudden sound. No, he couldn't let her get involved in this. After a few sickening 'I love you's, she pocketed the phone, looking back up.
"You need to leave," he said, leaning on the door, willing it to shut again.
A steely glint in her eyes. "No." She forced her way in, the door swinging shut as she entered. His arms hung limply at his sides, no longer trying to prevent her from entering. Maybe it was okay to let her stay for a while. Her gaze softened as she shrugged off her purse, putting it on the couch. "Sit down. I'll make us some tea."
His eyes trailed her figure as she disappeared into the kitchen. He didn't see any traces of them around. They had to be there, though, watching. He knew they disapproved. But seeing Cameron had somehow reignited some of the fight in him. He didn't care what they thought.
She returned with two steaming mugs, handing one to him before taking a seat on the couch beside him. She lifted up her mug and took a small sip, sighing. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or will I just have to keep waiting?"
"Nothing's wrong." He held the mug up to his lips, sipping at the tea. Chamomile, he noted, wrinkling his nose at the flowery scent. He hated tea, but it kept his mouth occupied, not talking. Wilson had brought it over, said it would help calm him or some other therapeutic nonsense.
"Right, and every time you say that, you nearly get yourself killed." She put a hand on his knee, looking into his eyes. "You can tell me anything, House. Really."
Chase sat at the kitchen table, an open bottle of beer sitting mostly untouched. Cameron wouldn't approve if she came home and he was out of his mind wasted. The feeling of dread hadn't gone, and he felt his eyes wandering compulsively over to the clock over and over. It had only been half an hour after she had called, yet each passing second felt longer than the last.
Maybe if she wasn't back by midnight he would go over, see if everything was okay. He squeezed his hand around the beer, the cold jolting through his senses. If she needed him, he wanted to be sober. He squished the lid back on awkwardly, sticking the bottle back into the refrigerator.
She'd told him not to wait up, though. She probably didn't want to be bothered. He flipped his phone open and shut, sighing. He'd go if she called, then. He'd keep it by his side, waiting. Moving to the living room, he switched on the TV, flipping through channels aimlessly, trying to take his mind off of her.
The mugs were empty now. She had taken them back, rinsed them out, left them in the rack to dry. The charade had gone on long enough. They were going to make a move if she was here any longer.
"You need to go," he said again, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "It's not safe here." He needed her to understand. He needed her to leave. Please.
Her eyebrows scrunched up, mouth pouting slightly downward. "House... I'm not afraid of you."
What? What on earth was she talking about?
She held one of his arms gently, gazing steadily into his eyes. "Look, I understand that your current mental state might be... fragile, but I know you won't hurt me."
No, he wasn't the problem, they- he glanced over his shoulder quickly- they were. He could control himself. He couldn't control Them. "No... you don't understand. You can't help me anymore." His hand shot out, squeezing her wrist tightly. Maybe he could scare her off. He tried to beg her with his eyes, anything that wouldn't make him tell. Leave... leave...
Her arm stiffened in shock, but she didn't back off, didn't get up. "I won't leave until you tell me what's going on." She was pleading too, with those wide puppy dog eyes. "Please, House... whatever it is..."
"There's someone else here." He couldn't stop himself. The words had torn their way out, unable to stay bottled any longer. He released his hand suddenly, stepping back. What had he done? They had heard. They were coming. "Go," he begged, his voice guttural.
She backed away as if in a haze, the concern in her gaze multiplying tenfold. "What do you mean there's someone-" An arm reached around, pulling around her body tightly, a knife up to her throat. She was trembling, the skin of her neck bobbing against the blade.
"Don't hurt her," he cried, staggering forward. "Take it out on me. I talked. It's my fault."
The figure held her tighter, a drop of blood trailing down her throat. "She knows too much."
She was in disbelief, looking at him for help, for anything. "House?" she whispered his name, tearing up.
He looked away, arms dropping down. He hated seeing her helpless, afraid, but there was nothing he could do. The stakes were too high. "I'm sorry."
It was almost two in the morning now. He rolled over in bed, staring at the glowing red numbers on the clock.
He hadn't done anything to make her mad, had he? She should've called back already if she was spending the night. Maybe something was wrong. He picked up his phone, sighing as he set it back on the bed stand. Of course something was wrong. It was House, after all. She had probably just gotten tangled up trying to get him to not kill himself or something. She'd probably already forgotten about him. Or maybe she actually was mad. Even if she was mad, it wasn't like her not to call.
Well, if she wasn't going to call, he'd call her. He dialed her number, listening to the phone ring, hoping she'd pick up.
It went to message. What was he thinking? If she didn't want to talk to him... Her voice came out of the tiny speaker, bright and perky.
"Hey, it's Allison. Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message."
He heard the long beep, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Hey. It's me. Please let me know you're okay." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "I'm worried about you." He put the phone back down, lying back. If she didn't respond in half an hour, he was going to drive over and-
The shrill ringing noise pierced through the silence, and he made a mad dash for the phone, flipping it open. It was her. "Hello?"
"It's House. Cameron's asleep. I'll see you in the morning." Click.
His words were clipped, measured, and Chase fought the compulsion to call back straightaway. He was probably just overthinking this. It was late. He had probably woken him up. But House hadn't sounded tired. He sounded tense, really. Strained. He propped up his pillow, leaning against it. Maybe if he thought about it, he could figure out why it felt off.
He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until the alarm woke him up.
She was on the floor now, blonde hair fanned out, a few strands curling into the slowly growing puddle of blood, staining themselves a bright red. He combed his fingers through the silky strands, heart thudding away in his chest. Her face looked oddly peaceful, despite it all. He could almost trick himself into thinking she was asleep.
She was still beautiful, he couldn't help thinking, numbly running a thumb over her cheek. She was still warm, but most of the color had already drained out of her face.
They had seen the ring. He had tried to play it off, pretended she didn't have a husband, that the ring was only in remembrance of the one she had lost. There was no need for anyone else to get involved. No more avoidable casualties.
Then that idiot Chase had to call. And he had to pretend, had to blatantly lie to one of his protégés that his wife was fine, that she wasn't dead at his feet. Lying came easily to him. So easily that he was sickened by the words that came out of his own mouth. He hadn't even hesitated.
They had left him with the body, with a warning that he knew what would happen if he tried to commit suicide. There wasn't anything he could do. He had tried to slow the bleeding, tried to preserve what life was in her when they had left. But the thin blanket now only lightly covered her frame, stained dark like the carpet she lay on.
They had left her face untouched. He was sure they had done it to taunt him, to force him to look. Otherwise he could've pretended it was someone else. He wanted desperately to pretend. And he hated pretending. If only he hadn't opened the door.
This was it for him, wasn't it? They were going to lock him behind bars, throw away the key. He would never be back in this apartment again, not that he wanted to be. He would never practice medicine again.
He dug the Vicodin bottle back out from under the couch, popping the top. There was no point being sober anymore. He didn't care about withdrawal, didn't care about the consequences. His life was descending into hell as it were. He might as well speed up the process.
Tipping back the bottle, he swallowed what was left, chucking the now empty container in whatever direction. Slowly, he lay himself down on the floor beside her, waiting for the drugs to kick in, to take him away to their familiar euphoric buzz. And so, stoned out of his mind, he waited for the police to come.