Disclaimer: I own nothing but Hal.
The Story of Hal Prentice.
Hal Prentice was a small, wiry man. He was amazingly pale, his hair was raven black and slightly untamed, and he had dim blue-gray eyes faded from years of wear and tear. He wasn't all that old, however. He acted old and he looked old, but the time of his retirement was surely years off. Something in his demeanor made those around him think that his retirement couldn't come soon was a doctor. He hadn't wanted to be a doctor. His mother had. He himself had wanted a quiet life. He'd wanted to be a hermit. His younger self's dreams of the future dwelled happily on sitting on a porch with an ancient rocking chair, yelling at small children to get off his perfectly manicured lawn.
Today's Hal lived in a small apartment on the fifth floor of his small apartment building. He didn't have a porch. He didn't have a lawn.
What Hal did have was an office. It was a reasonably nice office, with dark wooden walls and a pristine white carpet. In his office, Hal had a fancy computer, and a comfortable chair. He had windows that overlooked the outdoors and, unlike in his home, they weren't located in the bathroom. Hal didn't leave his office very often.
That was, until a new doctor moved in next door. Hal had been friendly, and had welcomed the man to the place. The man hadn't cared. Hal often saw him dressed in jeans and T-shirts, whereas he himself always wore clean, pristine clothes. What's more, the man had an oversized tennis was a dog toy. Hal was sure of it. Half was red, half was gray, and House loved the thing more than life itself. When he'd been tossing it up in the air and catching it, Hal hadn't minded at all. It was when this habit grew dull and boring when his problem begins. As does our story.
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Hal was running late.
Microscopically late, mind you. He might have overslept just a little. Last night, he might've stayed up a little later that usual. But none of that mattered now. He bustled into his office and threw his stuff on the ground next to his desk, then went about acting like he'd been there for quite a while. His job went smoothly until about noon. He'd visited a couple patients, gone down to get a giant glass of chocolate milk, had a brief scuffle with Cuddy because he spilled the milk in the hallway, received a dark glare from the janitor, and slinked back to the cafeteria to get another glass of milk {he was refused, a worker shoved a carton in his hand instead}, then set off back his office to seek refuge for the rest of the day. That's when he first heard it.
Thump.
It-whatever it was-echoed through his room. It startled him into jumping, nearly dropping his carton of milk. He looked around, waiting for a breathless moment, before setting back to work. The place remained blissfully peaceful for a good five , there it was again. Another 'thump' rang through the air, followed by two more in quick succession. Hal sat up, quite shaken from his labor. The sound didn't die down this time. It kept on going, a repetitive clanging, a rhythmic catastrophe.
Hal didn't last too long before he snuck from his office, hell bent on discovering the source of the noise. It didn't take him long. All he had to do was peer through the clear glass wall of House's own office. The sight that met his eyes explained everything.
House was leaning back in his chair, throwing the ball against the wall and catching it again repeatedly.
A tiny seed of hatred took root in Hal Prentice's soul.
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A week passed. Every day, around noontime, the noise began. It would continue on until House left. While the time House slipped out varied each day, Hal noticed it was almost always far too early. The one day he did stay later than usual was the day that the noise finally got to Hal. It'd been worse that day. Apparently House, driven by the need to find the ailment of a patient, had been throwing the ball against the wall with a hatred he hadn't possessed before.
The next day Hal went to see Cuddy. He explained his situation quite eloquently, he felt, but the look on Cuddy's face made himself think twice. He was thrown from her office exactly thirty minutes later. Apparently, that dog toy was part of House's 'process'. Hal went back to his office to lick his wounds.
The next day, Hal had decided to wage war. He snuck into House's office while the man was out somewhere and quickly thieved the ball. He was walking on clouds for a few seconds before Chase caught him with a simple "Wha-hey! Where're you going with that?"
Hal was flustered. He couldn't help but stammer. "I-I was just taking it out to….to…get it cleaned!" He smiled proudly. Chase smiled back. "Well, let's leave getting House's tennis balls to House, shall we?" Hal nodded and trudged back to House's desk, putting the ball back on it with a resentful look. He'd obviously need to be sneakier.
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What followed Hal's resolution to be sneakier would always be remembered by Hal as a series of most grievous mistakes. He would never remember all of what he did, but a few incidences would always stand out in his mind.
The first happened early on in his quest. House, drawn from his office and into his adjoining room by the treat of an impossibly ill patient, quite forgot his cane. It lay deserted on his desk. The blinds between the rooms were closed. Hal took a chance and snuck in, then nabbed the cane and was halfway to the door before he froze. He couldn't walk around with that cane. Everyone knew who it belonged to. He could hear House's voice in the next room. It was drawing closer.
Hal's eyes darted to and fro. He'd have to stash it here, in House's office. Hal shoved it harshly behind the leather chair and dashed from the office just as House walked back later heard that House couldn't find his cane for a whole day. The janitor had kindly given it back to him the following day, but only after House had suffered for a while. But, sadly, those weren't the depths Hal would sink to. He'd spiked House's coffee, and even made the other man trip once. It was then he knew he'd gone too far.
It'd happened right outside his office.
Hal was smart. The main entrance was under construction. House would be forced to go around, and walk right in front of his office. He'd wet the ground when no one was looking.
The look on House's face was comical, to say the least. It was the face of one who realizes that his legs are moving, but his torso isn't. Without anything to hold him up, he flailed his way to the ground. It looked quite painful. Luckily for him, he was always on pain killers. Hal felt obligated to go and help House, seeing as it might tip people of if he didn't. As he held a hand out to House, he heard the other man mumble tersely "You could have switched offices, Y'know." Hal didn't say anything else. He rubbed his smarting leg and back and hobbled off to his own office.
Hal himself went off to find Cuddy, and promptly requested a new office. He got it.
The injuries suffered by House on Hal's behalf were numerous. Luckily, the long string of other doctors who had the office in quick succession after Hal was relocated were far more docile. After a little while Cuddy saw the pattern. The office was turned into a janitor's supply closet. A huge one.
The best news of all, however, was the fact that House didn't extract any kind of revenge on Hal. The scrawny man probably wouldn't have survived if he had.
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Fin.
Author's note: I changed Hal's name halfway through. If you noticed any mention of Shawn, please tell me so I can try to fix it. I don't really know how, but I'll still try.
Anyways, like it, hate it? Please review. Reviewing is really, really nice.