Guess who got a new chapter in BEFORE Wednesday? BOO-YAH!!
LOL…okay, so my funny moment of the day. In English we watched the 1993 version of "Much Ado About Nothing" and Robert Sean Leonard was in it! He was Claudio and he was such a lover boy and I was like, "Yup…that's my Wilson!". He was much younger too and so cute! Hee hee…it made me smile and all I did during the movie was look for Wilson's face. Oh, it made me sooooo happy.
I don't own House.
Chapter 4
"Did you talk to House?" Wilson asked Cuddy as soon as she entered the hospital.
"What have you been doing, waiting outside the door?" Cuddy deflected as she unlocked her office door.
"Did you talk to House?" Wilson repeated, entering her office behind her.
Cuddy sighed. "What's with the third degree, Wilson? I called but he didn't pick up."
Wilson looked surprised. "Really?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Well, he never picks up his phone so that's not a surprise. Do you even know what his answering machine message is?"
"No I don't mean that. I just didn't expect you to actually call him."
Cuddy stopped walking and turned around to face, frowning. "What?"
He shrugged. "You've yelled at House lots of times before and you never called him to make sure he didn't get the wrong message. So the fact that you called him means that either you know whatever you said to him yesterday was uncalled for or, you think House might take it the wrong way. And if you're worried that House might take it the wrong way….it shows that you care about what he thinks."
Again Cuddy rolled her eyes but smiled slightly and dropped her purse and coat behind her desk. "Wilson, I think…you've been hanging around House for too long. Go do your job."
Wilson smiled as well. "Sure, Cuddy." On his way out, he quickly remembered why he had come down to begin with, "Oh, and when you see House tell him I got a case."
"Sure."
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It was noon. House wasn't at work and Cuddy was worried. House was a lot of things but he rarely just skipped work. He still came, at least to try and steal a peek at Cuddy's ass, or turn human beings into life size puzzles. She had called his home and cell but he still hadn't picked up. On her way to the elevators, she spotted Cameron.
"Dr. Cameron!" she yelled after her before she could enter one of the clinic rooms.
"Yes, Dr. Cuddy?"
"Have you seen House?"
"No, none of us have."
"Where's Chase and Foreman?" she asked noticing that none of them were in the clinic. And she had just been to the ER.
"They went out to lunch. It's twelve; I'm going to join them after this patient." She grabbed a file and added, "You should ask Wilson. He'd probably know."
Right, Cuddy told herself as she entered an elevator right as it opened. She shouldn't assume the worst, she told herself. Maybe he was just sick. Once upstairs, she marched towards Wilson's office glancing at House's room to check if he was in there playing his gameboy or messing with his ball. He wasn't, which only made her walk a little faster to Wilson's office.
"Have you seen House?" she asked once inside.
Wilson was on his way out to lunch. "No, I haven't…I've been expecting him to come by though. I'm off to lunch and I am his walking bank account. What, you haven't seen him?"
Cuddy shook her head and pursed her lips. "I've called his phone but he won't pick up."
"He's probably sleeping in."
"Until noon? No, something must have happened." Cuddy's worry was clear. Anyone a mile away could have read it on her face.
"Hey, no need to assume the worst. Look, I'll go check his apartment."
Cuddy nodded before turning to go back to her office. She still had some work to do. "Alright."
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"Do you know why I'm doing this?" Ethan asked, playing with his gun. He was sitting in his chair in the corner.
It was taking all of House's strength not to scream. Now, it felt like a shark was eating his leg and he was definitely starting to go through the first symptoms of withdrawal. He was sweating and burning up at the same time and feeling nauseous. He hadn't thrown up yet which was a good sign, but the chronic pain in his leg was making it difficult to see the bright side of anything.
He took in a shaky breath and closed his eyes. He needed a distraction. All of a sudden, he felt something cold at his throat and he struggled to open his eyes again.
Ethan was in front of him holding a knife. He used the end to lift up House's chin to look at him.
"Do you know why I'm doing this?" Ethan asked again.
"Mommy abandoned you and you were raped at age six?" House shot back.
The blow House was expecting never came. He felt a pinprick in his arm and at the same time the metal at his throat disappeared. A millisecond before it happened, he realized Ethan hadn't put away the knife. He was about to use it. House screamed as Ethan slowly dug the knife into his left arm, right above the elbow but about an inch in, he quickly yanked it out, multiplying the pain.
"I wasn't supposed to use that yet," Ethan replied, cleaning the blood on the knife with House's shirt. "Not for awhile, but sometimes you give me no choice. Do you want to know I'm doing this?"
House would have said something else that would have earned another stab, but Ethan didn't give him a chance to answer.
"Because I want to see you suffer." He moved House's face to face his with the blade of the knife. "I want to see you hopelessly broken. I want to see you begging like a dog for mercy. I want to see you writhing in pain and for once in your god-forsaken life, I want to see you quit."
When he let go, the first wave of nausea hit him hard. House quickly turned away and threw up the contents of his stomach less than one foot away from him. Shit, it's going to stink in here, he thought to himself.
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Fifteen minutes later, Cuddy's office phone rang.
"Dr. Cuddy," she answered as she scrutinized a file.
"It's Wilson," he answered somewhat frantically.
"Yeah?" Cuddy said, dropping formality, worried already. "What is it? Did you find House?"
"He's not here but his bike and car are still outside and his cane is on the floor right next to the door. His Vicodin is on the couch beside his jacket. Wherever he went it wasn't planned."
Cuddy's heart was racing. He didn't go anywhere without his cane. He couldn't get anywhere without his cane. It was the dead of winter in New Jersey so he needed the jacket – he wasn't that stupid. And the day he didn't take Vicodin, she'd host a party in his honor.
"Call him again."
"I already called three times before I called you. Cuddy, I have no idea where he is."
Cuddy hesitated before whispering, "Call the police. Umm, Wilson, I have to go."
"Alright."
Click.
Cuddy dropped the file she had been looking and rested her chin on her hand, staring off into space. Where was he? She hoped he hadn't done something incredibly stupid. After all he couldn't have gone far without a jacket and cane.
She sighed loudly and tried to force herself not to worry. She couldn't help but think it had been something she had said yesterday. No, that's impossible. What could she have said yesterday that…
I don't care if you go play with your gameboy or go home. Hell, you can walk of Wilson's balcony if that makes you happy.
She shook her head, biting her lower lip. House wasn't an idiot. Yes, he was. But he wouldn't take it literally…she was angry and he knew it, that's why he had gone off to figure it out. If the words had hurt him, he would have slumped over to his own secluded part of the world – and he hadn't done that.
Oh, God. Her face fell into her hands. What if it's my fault? What have I done?
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"My brother was in the army," Ethan said, sharpening his knife in the corner.
House rolled his eyes though in excruciating pain. He wasn't going to give Ethan all the satisfaction before he pulled the trigger. "Boo hoo."
"He got sick so they had to send him back to the States," Ethan continued, ignoring him. "They figured out what was wrong with him…can't remember what the hell the virus was that was killing him but it was terminal, and he'd end up dying in pain."
House was have snorted if he didn't have to concentrate so hard on not screaming. But he still spat out, "So…you're means of revenge is to inflict pain…because, you know, which psycho doesn't do that? Everyone knows that killing one person is going to bring back another. What were people thinking when they abandoned all the sacrifice rituals?"
Ethan slammed the knife down and marched right up to House angrily, waving his gun around. "It was you! You bastard! You were his doctor and you saw him in pain and did nothing about it! You told me all that bullshit about not being able to up his morphine even though he's going to die. You bloody well could have done something and you did nothing."
House closed his eyes and grimaced as another even stronger wave of pain radiated from this thigh through the rest of his body. The spasms were hurting more and it hadn't even been a full day. He was going to crack. "I did what I could. My job was done and if I had upped his morphine he would've gone into a coma. Personally, I wouldn't care but my boss would."
Ethan laughed. "Oh, yeah she would've cared. You know she'll never fire you no matter what crazy scheme you come up with. She okayed some crazy nerve biopsy for your last case, am I right? Which could very well have paralyzed your patient? She lied for you in court to save your sorry ass and she knows your addicted to a narcotic but does nothing about it. You know why she won't fire you."
House shivered as a million different thoughts ran through his mind. How did he know about all this? Pain. What else did he know? Pain. He knew nothing about his life…pain…what he had gone through, what…pain…he had suffered through….pain…this was none of his damn business…blinding pain.
In the corner of his already half closed eyes, he saw Ethan raise the gun above his head and slam it into House's face. Then again, he raised the gun and slammed it on the other side of his face. Over and over again until House was completely oblivious to the numbing feeling all over his face, not until he smashed the gun into his bum leg. House let out a blood curling scream, clenching his fist and shaking all over. He couldn't keep still as Ethan punched him over and over again in the same location.
He was beaten, mercilessly and House was on the brink of unconsciousness. It was a struggle to breath and black spots decorated his vision like stars of the night. He was lying on his side, shaking uncontrollably with blood splattered across his face. He was numb, and the pain he felt was a long stretch of never-ending agony throughout his entire body almost at the same level of the pain in his leg.
The next time he heard Ethan, he was much further away – so far away, House thought the room had expanded. Then he realized it was his ear…his right ear…he couldn't hear from it as well.
"You know why Cuddy won't fire you," Ethan said. "Because this is what she sees. The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty. You hate that, but it's better than what your dad did to you, right? Your dad hated you…he still hates you and after the infarction, all he saw was his cripple failure. You never did anything right, so he'd punish you, push you. Do you remember when you had to sleep outside in the dead of winter for a night? All the meals you missed altogether because you were two minutes late for dinner? Nights you were forced to stay awake and still go to school in order to build character? Do you remember the number of times he pushed you, beat you, dragged you around by the arm and treated you like a worthless dog?
"And what did your mom do? She didn't do anything. You tell yourself it's because she couldn't divorce him because she had nowhere else to go. But you know it's because she couldn't be bothered. Your dad hates you and your mom couldn't care any less."
House could still hear him but he was still drifting, about to slip into oblivious unconsciousness. Ethan realized it and kicked him again in the thigh. House groaned but didn't move.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you'll want to stay awake for this. Time to call Lisa."
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"Cuddy!" Wilson started as soon as he entered her office. His face was flushed after running in the snow and he had been speeding like a maniac on the way back. Cuddy looked up from what she had been doing, or what she hadn't been doing. Since Wilson's last called, she had just stared off into space, wondering where House could be and what could have happened. "I called the police…they should be here s--" He stopped when the phone rang.
She immediately picked it up before the first ring had ended. "Dr. Cuddy," she answered.
"Unless you want to see Dr. House in a body bag, you will do exactly as I say."
Cuddy's heart jumped and for a moment she stopped breathing.
"Lisa, tell me that you can hear me."
The man's voice on the other hand terrified her and when he called her by her first name, she shivered. Oh, God this was the man House was with? House had been kidnapped.
"Yes," she whispered, afraid to say too much or the wrong thing.
"I can't hear you, Lisa."
"Yes," she said a little louder. "Where is House? What have you done to him?" Wilson eyes almost popped out of his skull and he walked closer to Cuddy's desk.
The man ignored her. "I expect one million dollars in cash in two separate extra large briefcases in 48 hours. No doubt you've already called the police so I'm not going to bother with that. I will say this: if I were you, I'd tell them it was a false alarm."
"Where's House?" Cuddy demanded, whimpering. "I want to talk to him!" This isn't happening, this isn't happening, she tried to tell herself. But the voice on the phone was real…too real. And it terrified her. At the hospital, she was the woman in charge, but in this situation, she was this man's puppet – and that scared her. Being a puppet didn't guarantee House's life.
She could practically see the man on the other end smile as he answered, "You're going to have to trust me now, aren't you? One million dollars in forty eight hours. That's your assignment for now."
"No!" She yelled, crying freely now. "No…no, I won't get it until I know House is alright. I want to speak to him…please…let me talk to him."
At that precise moment, she heard two loud shots fire on the other end of the phone. "House!" she screamed, "House!" No, no, no, no, no, no….
"Lisa, I don't think you understand how serious I am. I am very content with killing House and not receiving my money. But if I get my money, there's no need to end House's life. Murder can get so complicated at times. It can come back later and bite you. Very difficult to wipe yourself clean. You hear so many stories of murderers being found years later. But all I'm asking for is a ransom. It's easier this way for me and for you. Either way, I will somehow get my satisfaction so I suggest, you get me the money. Do we understand each other?"
Cuddy was almost completely incoherent as she blubbered, "Okay…okay…I'll get what you need…don't hurt him, please…I'll get it."
"Thank you, Lisa. It's one o'clock in the afternoon right now. Expect my call in twenty four hours."
Click.
Cuddy left the phone on her ear even after she heard the dial tone. Wilson heard the tone too and was hesitant to say something. Finally, after almost a minute, he said, "Cuddy, what happened?"
She didn't answer. She was still in total shock. She always thought of House as a person who could get his way out of anything, or at least talk his way out of anything, he was untouchable, invincible – even with the limp. Now, knowing that he had been kidnapped, she realized he wasn't invincible – he wasn't the all powerful Gregory House that could get his way out of trouble. He was in danger and if things didn't work out, he'd be dead.
But what made Cuddy realize the gravity of the situation was House's silence. Knowing House, he would probably insult his captor (as stupid as he could be sometimes) and dissect his captor's motive. If House was in the room with the man, he would have yelled something so that Cuddy would hear, even if it was something idiotic like, "I miss looking at your ass, this guy's isn't as pretty".
But House had said nothing which caused her to assume the worst. Was he tied up? Gagged? Was he hurt? Dying?
"Cuddy, you need to tell me what happened. What's going on? Is he okay?"
Wilson's voice brought her back into the present and she replaced the phone. "He's…and the man…" Cuddy cracked and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
"Hey," Wilson whispered. He went over to her and held her, allowing her to sob into his arm.
"They took him Wilson…that man…I don't know who he is but he took House and he wants…one million dollars…but it's not going to make a difference because he's probably going to end up shooting House anyway. He's going to kill him, Wilson…I know he is."
"Shh, you don't know that. The police are on their way and they'll help us figure this out. We'll get him back. House is a fighter, he's not going to let him win."
"I told him to go die, Wilson," Cuddy confessed, looking at him and trying to wipe away the flowing tears. "I was mad at him yesterday, and I told him to go kill himself, to go walk off a balcony. That's the last thing he heard me tell him. He's going to die, Wilson."
"He's not going to die, Lisa," he said, using her first name. Something he rarely did. "He's not going to die. He's not…" he repeated it again to himself, as if to convince himself. He had to believe it.
"Wilson…if he dies he's going to die alone with that man in pain. And he'll die thinking I hate him, thinking that I want him dead. It might not be my fault, but I can't help and I still made it worse."
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Many hours later, House had thrown up again and the smell wasn't helping. He hadn't eaten all day – his last meal had been with Wilson and that was hardly a meal – all he had was a bag of chips and Wilson's yogurt.
He wasn't hungry due to the nausea, but he was thirsty. He was throwing up and dehydrated, definitely not a good combination.
But the worst part was the pain.
It had only gotten worse and now he wasn't only shivering. He was cold and burning up at the same time, his entire face was covered in a terrible mix of dried blood and sweat and his eyes were red and watering. He'd groan through the strong spasms in his leg but couldn't help but whimper when it got worse. During the worst of the pain, he remained silent, too overwhelmed to even make a noise. He would go through periods of time where he was completely unaware of his surroundings and his eyes kept rolling to the back of his head. His head was hurting, his muscles ached, he couldn't move with hurting something else even more and breathing at times seemed too hard. His body was covered with bruises from early beatings the stab wound on his arm was still bleeding.
He wasn't losing too much blood which alone was a miracle but he was still worried. He'd been hit on the head so many times he was surprised he was still conscious. He might not have any brain damage but he had probably suffered a concussion.
He wasn't going through withdrawal alone. It felt like the infarction all over again, but this time, the rest of his body was hurting too. And the pain was so bad, he couldn't even scream anymore. He wanted to sleep but couldn't. He wanted to distract himself but had no idea how.
House had been in the room when Ethan called Cuddy. He hadn't heard anything she said until Ethan randomly fired two shots in House's general direction. Both shots had purposely missed House but Cuddy had been convinced he was dead. Despite his bad ear and even from his side of the room, he could hear Cuddy screaming his name. He wanted to scream that he was okay, tell her that she was fine and that when she came to get him, she should be wearing something that made the wait worth it. But he couldn't even keep his eyes open for too long.
He thought about Wilson and how he must be chewing himself inside and out. House knew he'd keep his head and that he'd be the ones making the decisions with the police. But Cuddy was probably taking a trip on the guilt train. She was probably blaming herself…
The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty.
Ethan's voice brought House out of his own shelter in his mind. "Day one is over, House, and Cuddy cooperated quite nicely. Forty eight hours left. Look at the bright side; if Cuddy gets the money ready before that, I might shorten the delay…get rid of you a few hours before, save you the pain."
Ethan stood up and left the room. "Goodnight House. Don't die on me just yet."
Okay, guys and gals, that was a long chapter…over 3700 words or so. And I did it before Wednesday! PLEASE REVIEW! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Thanks guys for the support!
Sorry if House is OOC but I mean, even House has his snark-limits right? Like when you feel like the biggest pile of s**t.
Oh, and according to some group of mythbuster- type people (I don't know exactly what they were), you CAN fit one million dollars into two brief cases. They'd have to be super large briefcases but briefcases nonetheless. If someone finds something more accurate, tell me and I'll go change it. :)