TRIAL & ERROR Chapter 2

The saga continues… more on the way!!!

Rated M/Adult for language and mature themes (like ALL my stuff!!!)

All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…

NITEJASMINE

TRIAL & ERROR, Chapter 2

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

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House studied the blue liquid filled vial for a few moments, trying to force something up in his mind as to what it was, where it came from… but there was nothing. Frustrated, he set the vial down on his nightstand. He decided to deal with that later. He could tell from the light outside that it was already late morning. It was time to get his ass in gear. At least he would have the rest of the long weekend to let himself recover.

It took some effort, but after swallowing a couple Vicodin, House finally managed to get himself vertical and hobble into the bathroom. He braced himself against the sink for a moment and looked down. That's when he saw the rings of purple around both his ankles. More bruises. What the hell had he done to himself? He reached over and turned on the hot water tap, then wrangled himself into the shower. The soothing hot water felt wonderful. He stood there and let it cascade over him, breathing in the warm steam. While he was standing there, a rapid series of quick snapshots flashed through his head. A needle. Pale blue liquid in it. Woman holding it. Injecting it into his IV. His body arching off the bed in seizure…

He snapped open his eyes and blinked a few times, again trying to make more memories come, but that was it. An IV? He looked down at his arms, examining them. And found what he was looking for. There on the inside of his left arm were the telltale leftover marks from an IV. He felt a wave of uncertain fear tighten in his stomach. There's more going on here than just a bad night's drinking binge. Something else happened to me. But what???

He finished his shower, dried off, and threw on a loose pair of comfortable jeans and a T shirt. He snatched the blue vial off his nightstand and limped into the living room with it, flopping onto the couch. He set the vial on the coffee table in front of him, then reached for the TV remote and turned on the news. The weather man was just going on about how the weather had been so crappy over the long holiday weekend, and how everyone was grumbling to be back at work today. House stared at the screen. No. No way. He stabbed at the remote buttons and clicked on the TV listing channel, which shows the date and time. He gaped at the date. It was four days since he had been walking to his bike in the hospital garage. He had completely lost four fucking days.

A loud knocking on his apartment door startled him, he nearly jumped off the sofa. He heard Wilson yelling "House!" through the closed door. But before he could even get up, Wilson had his key in the lock and was barging into the apartment. Wilson stopped short as soon as he saw House sitting there on the couch, with a frustrated huff. Wilson turned around and slammed the front door shut, then walked quickly over and stood right in front of his disheveled friend.

"House, where the hell have you been?!" He demanded loudly.

House didn't answer him, he just sat there, staring at the floor, still grappling with the shock of four lost days.

Wilson ran his hands through his hair, then put his hands on his hips. He was clearly very annoyed.

"I have been calling you for 4 days god dammit! When you didn't show up at the hospital for work this morning, I figured I had better get over here and check on you. And, as usual, here you are, sitting in front of the TV without a care in the world! Did it ever occur to you to call someone and tell them you're going to be out of town? Let your friends know that you're still breathing?"

"Wilson…" House started, looking up at his angry friend. But Wilson cut him off.

"Honestly House, I don't know why I even bother," Wilson said, and started pacing back and forth. "You clearly don't give a rat's ass if anyone worries about you. I mean, seriously, how would anyone know if something ever did happen to you, huh? Have you ever stopped for two seconds to think about that?!"

Flash. "Nobody will be looking for you…" Thick accent. Female voice. Cold grey eyes, laughing at him... Another wave of fear curled in his stomach. House swallowed hard.

Wilson was still on his tirade.

"OK. Typical of you with the silent treatment, fine," Wilson said, still pacing. "Will you at least tell me where the hell you've been for four days?!"

House looked up at his friend again.

"I don't know," he said quietly, then looked at the floor again.

Wilson stopped pacing and stared at him.

"What? What the hell do you mean you don't know?" he demanded. But then he noticed the pale color of his friend. House's eyes were skipping around the room, like he was mentally searching for something. Finally, his friend's eyes came back up and met his own, and he saw something there that chilled him. Wilson saw fear. Something had definitely scared Gregory House. And whatever that something was, it had to be pretty monumental.

"I mean, I… can't remember anything," House said haltingly, his voice soft. "I have… bruises," he said, holding one wrist out, "and I don't know how I got them." Wilson saw the dark, thick purple rings and nearly gasped out loud. His eyes widened.

"And apparently I've had an IV in this arm," House continued, showing Wilson the marks. "But I have no idea where I've been or what happened to me. And just before you showed up, I found out what day it is. Wilson, I've lost 4 whole days, and I can't remember anything. All I get are these… flashes, and they're not pleasant." House slowly lowered his head.

"Holy shit, House," Wilson said, shrugging off his coat. He tossed it aside and sat down next to his slightly shaken friend on the sofa. "Let me see," and he reached for the injured wrist, gently examining the rings of bruises.

"Ankles too," House offered. Wilson leaned down and lifted the edge of his pant leg, seeing more of the thick purple marks.

"House," he said cautiously, "these… look like bruises from hospital restraints. And an IV? Maybe you were in a hospital, maybe you were in an accident… No. Your bike is right outside the front door. There's not a mark on it."

House shook his head.

"No other injuries on me either," House answered. "And why would I wake up in my own bed? Besides, that was stuck inside my Vicodin bottle. I have no idea what it is," he said, pointing to the thin blue vial on the table.

Wilson stared at the mysterious vial of liquid. What the hell had happened to his friend? Terrible thoughts were nibbling at the edges of his mind, but he pushed them away. He snagged the remote and shut off the TV. Then he leaned forward, looked squarely into his friend's face, and sighed heavily.

"Alright. Let's do this logically. Start from the beginning, wherever that might be. And tell me everything you can remember. Every detail. Let's figure out what happened to you."

House nodded. He started with walking to his bike in the hospital garage, and how everything was a big blank after that. Except the snapshot-like flashes he was getting since he woke up. He told Wilson exactly what he had been seeing in his head, no matter how disjointed it seemed. Then he detailed everything about waking up this morning and discovering the bruises and IV marks, and then all the missing time.

"And that's where you came in," he finally finished.

Wilson studied his face, and both men went quiet for a few moments, not wanting to verbalize what they were both thinking. Finally, it was House who took the plunge.

"I was kidnapped," he said flatly.

"Sure sounds that way," Wilson agreed.

"I must have been. It fits. It explains everything. I must have been in pain and struggling, because restraints don't leave bruises like this unless they're pulled on pretty hard. And there were obviously drugs involved, which explains the IV marks and the memory loss," he went on.

Wilson felt a little better seeing House swing into his normal diagnostic mode, but the realization was chilling.

"I don't know who or why, but that has got to be the key," House continued, pointing to the blue vial. "I think I was injected with it. I don't know what's in there, but it was hidden in with my pills. There has to be a reason for that. I have a feeling that I'm not supposed to have whatever that is."

"We should take it to the lab, analyze it, quietly," Wilson said. "Make sure it's not some kind of toxin. Do you feel up to coming into work for a while?" he asked, standing up and reaching for his coat.

"Sure," answered House, getting up slowly.

"Put a different shirt on," Wilson said. "You don't need any of the staff seeing those bruises and thinking you're into kinky sex."

"But that's what I'm always trying to get them to think," House quipped back, but headed off towards his bedroom for a long sleeved shirt anyway.

Moments later, they were in Wilson's car, headed towards PPTH. The pale blue vial tucked safely in House's pocket.

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The broad spectrum test results were frustratingly inconclusive. There was nothing even remotely like this stuff in any data base anywhere. The two doctors ended up with more questions than answers by the time the initial test was finished. The only thing they were sure of is that it was not any kind of toxin.

Wilson wanted to launch into a whole new battery of testing, but House had said no. Whatever the stuff was, there wasn't much of it, and until they could come up with some kind of theory or direction, House didn't want to waste it on pointless tests. Besides, it was now the middle of the afternoon and Wilson could see how tired his friend was, leaning heavily on his cane and rubbing his eyes. It was time to get him back home and let him get some rest. So they straightened up the lab and quietly left the building through the basement exit, successfully avoiding contact with anyone of consequence at the hospital.

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Once back at House's apartment, Wilson flipped open his cell phone and ordered a couple of pizzas as House popped a Vicodin and flopped onto the sofa.

"You OK?" Wilson asked, sitting down next to his friend.

"Fine," House answered tiredly.

The pizzas arrived shortly and House devoured the food. Wilson was careful not to get his fingers in the way, he might get them snapped off by the voracious eater next to him. He wondered when House had eaten last…

Once the food was gone and House seemed satisfied, Wilson leaned up and reached for the TV remote, but House grabbed it first, shooting the younger man a dirty look. Wilson shrugged and rolled his eyes. House swung his leg up and propped his feet up on top of the coffee table, clicked the TV on and chose a movie channel, then settled back into the couch. But he didn't last long. House was fast asleep in 10 minutes.

Bright white lights. Waves of horrible pain. Can't move. Tied down. Tight hand around his throat. A woman's face. Cruel grey eyes. Needles. IV in his arm. Alarms blaring. Can't breathe… No. No more. Stop… Stop… Stop…

House was startled awake. Wilson's hands were on his shoulders, shaking him and calling his name.

"House, wake up!" Wilson was yelling. House jumped back, causing his legs to jerk off the coffee table and onto the floor. His leg immediately voiced it's disapproval with a sharp stab of pain. He grabbed his leg and sat there for a moment, gasping for air.

"That wasn't just a nightmare, was it?" Wilson finally asked, keeping his voice calm and even.

House shook his head, struggling to get his breathing back under control.

"What did you remember? What did you see?" he pressed.

House closed his eyes, took a deep breath and recounted everything from the terrible dream, before he forgot anything.

Wilson kept himself calm as he listened. Inside he felt raging anger and utter disbelief that something like this could happen to anyone, like the streets of Princeton had suddenly become some back alley in a third world country. But he perked up when he heard House say he saw a face. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

"You saw a woman's face?" He asked quickly. House nodded.

"I think she was the one injecting me," House said, his voice betraying how exhausted he was.

"You mean the one apparently torturing you," Wilson said bitterly.

"Yeah," House said with a sigh. "You know, you don't have to stay here and baby sit me…"

"Shut up, House," came Wilson's quick reply. "I'm not going anywhere."

House looked over at his annoyingly faithful friend.

"Fine," House groaned, slowly getting up. "Stay then. I'm going to bed." He forced himself to his feet and limped heavily down the hall.

Wilson heard him as he quickly settled into his bed, and he hoped the nasty dreams would hold off long enough for House to get some rest.

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They did, and House was able to get some actual sleep. He had slept pretty well, and woke up ravenously hungry. The smell of coffee and bacon came drifting to him, making his stomach growl. Wilson must be making breakfast. He hauled himself out of bed, took a Vicodin, grabbed his cane and headed for the kitchen.

House devoured breakfast. Wilson had made enough bacon, scrambled eggs and toast to feed a small army, but it didn't last long.

House mumbled his thanks as he got up and headed back to the sofa, clicking on the TV again to catch the morning news.

"So, anything new from last night?" Wilson bellowed from the kitchen as he began stacking up the dirty pans and dishes in the sink.

"Nope," came the loud reply.

"I was maybe thinking you might want to go into work today," he bellowed.

"Nope," came the reply again.

Wilson shook his head as he ran some hot water to wash the dishes. He knew if he didn't, they would just sit there for a week. He heard the news broadcaster prattling on about some missing pharmaceutical research doctor being found. Something, something, whatever, whatever.

"House, I think we need to tell Cuddy," he hollered, knowing they would both be receiving demanding phone calls and voice mails from the Dean of Medicine if they didn't check in soon. But his friend didn't answer him.

"House?" he tried again. Eerie silence. Annoyed as much as concerned, he grabbed a towel and dried off his hands and walked into the living room. House was staring intently at the TV screen…

House hadn't been that interested in the news until he saw a photo of a pretty woman in a pink blouse and a white lab coat displayed on the screen. She had soft eyes, short black hair, a warm smile. He froze, staring at the photo. I've seen her. I've talked to her. The blue vial. She is the blue vial. He was immediately riveted, nothing else in the world existed. He listened intently to the broadcaster…

And in other news, a young woman has been found after being missing for more than 4 months. Dr. Amanda Martelli, a prominent research doctor with Bently Pharmaceuticals, was discovered late last night, unconscious, in an abandoned warehouse in lower Manhattan. The details are sketchy, but the authorities report that Dr. Martelli had been brutally beaten and apparently tortured and left for dead. The barely alive doctor was rushed to New York Mercy Hospital under heavy security, where she is currently listed in critical condition, and is in a coma. Channel Seven will continue to follow this story and provide updates as they develop…

"House…" Wilson was standing in the kitchen doorway, towel in his hands, studying him.

House looked up at his friend, then hoisted himself up off the couch and bolted to his desk on the other side of the room. He sat down and hurriedly shook the small wireless mouse, waking up his computer. He looked over at Wilson, still standing there with a questioning look.

"It's her," House told him.

Wilson's eyes went wide.

"Her? Who her? The woman who tortured you?" Wilson asked.

"No," answered House, shaking his head. The computer came out of hibernation and was fully on line. House tapped the keys. In moments, the photo of Dr. Amanda Martelli was full screen on the monitor.

"Her," House said, staring at the screen.

Then he pulled the blue vial out of his pocket and held it up, turning to his questioning friend. He nodded to the small glass vial and leveled his gaze at Wilson.

"Her," he said definitively. "We're going to New York…"

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