Chapter Ten: Click, Click, Boom

Hamilton didn't beat the rain. It was only about ten minutes after he had left that Miranda heard the obnoxious tapping on the window, like someone who had been locked out and couldn't get back in. She gazed up at the ceiling, hoping the leak that she had just had fixed wouldn't need to be fixed yet again; Alvarez hadn't always been quite as good at reimbursement as her detectives would have hoped.

Tritter, meanwhile, was drinking in a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that Hamilton probably would come back looking like a drowned rat. The two hadn't ever particularly gotten along, given that, at least according to Tritter, Hamilton could be next to the word "hotshot" in the dictionary. He strongly suspected the only reason Hamilton joined the force was because he saw a cop movie once and thought it would suit his suave style.

Tritter was, besides listening to the rain and brooding over his dislike of Hamilton, staring silently at House, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few moments. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was thinking. Tritter didn't care, he was just glad that the doctor, if he had to stick around (and maybe it was the safest thing for House, too, considering the weather), had taken a few moments to shut up.

But as much as Tritter hated House's yammering, his silence may have been worse. After all, what did it mean? That House was still broken – by this… whatever it was, this latest stunt of his? Or maybe, still, from his latest betrayal – he'd see it as a betrayal, wouldn't he? Or maybe yet still, maybe it meant House was plotting. Maybe he was withdrawing. Maybe he was just lost off inside his head.

Tritter didn't know.

And as a detective, he didn't like not knowing things. Not reading people.

"So, how are you holding up?" he asked, trying to sound comforting, like Miranda always did.

It didn't come out as he intended; it came out as a gruff bark, an interrogation. House looked at him and glared.

"Fine, for being imprisoned."

"You chose to stay," Tritter retorted, jerking his finger to the rattling window. "If you'd rather go out in that, be my guest."

"Nah," House replied, "I'll probably come home to Cuddy having driven her own car into my house."

"Would serve you right if she did."

"Maybe it would."

There was another stalemate, neither of them speaking, as Neely entered the room.

"You know, I moved to New Jersey to get away from this kinda stuff," she announced to neither of them in particular. "Grew up in Florida, hurricanes all the TIME…"

"And Dexter," House added sarcastically, but Neely didn't respond.

"Then I went to college in Oklahoma – tornados!" she continued. "But no – I get right in the thick of it when I move to New Jersey of all places!"

"We're in deep sympathy for your tragedy, aren't we, Detective Tritter?" House inquired. Tritter shot him a look; as much as he didn't understand Neely's propensity to gab constantly, she was his colleague – albeit one who had never liked him very much, either.

Neely crossed her arms and looked annoyed.

"The famous Dr. House, huh?" she asked. "I should have known. I'll tell you, it's a little irritating that you get all the attention for curing the occasional person with… exciting malaria or whatever it is, but we're out there risking our lives to save people every single day and we don't get any credit." Tritter opened his mouth to cut her off, but she was on a roll. "And you're not even so great, Dr. House." She jerked her finger in Tritter's direction. "You remember what happened to Joe Luria. Haines' partner. He went to the great Dr. House, too, and he couldn't save him."

"Why are you jerking your finger at me?" Tritter asked, taking a seat across from House and trying to project how much he didn't care with his eyes. "I guess I missed the sign that said I was House's biggest fan."

"You and Bennett are the ones who decided to keep him around."

"Actually that was Bennett's idea, McVee. You know this is 2011. Women are allowed to have ideas, too," Tritter retorted in a patronizing voice, as House kicked back his feet, thinking to himself that if he had to be here, he might as well enjoy the show; that and Neely's breasts, which were precariously close to popping out of her blouse as she shook with anger.

"Detective Tritter, you are an old dick," she told him. "I'm glad Bennett is the one stuck with you and not me, because I would have killed myself. Slit my wrists and hung myself from a shower curtain."

"Isn't that overkill?" House chimed in. "I mean, wouldn't just one do the trick? I'm only asking."

If looks could have killed, House would have been the one hanging from a shower curtain. Luckily, looks couldn't kill.

The station rumbled and House could hear the walls shake in the heavy winds, followed by a sound that he couldn't quite hear at first, but soon realized was an ear-shattering bang.

The last thought that he had before he was thrown through the air was that maybe he shouldn't have pissed Neely off.

She's like Carrie or something! He thought frantically. Apparently I made a mistake!

That irrational thought quickly flew from the diagnostician's mind as he tried to assess the situation. Where was he? What had happened?

There had been a boom… he'd been thrown… somewhere.

But where?

He looked up and saw nothing but blackness, then reached out and touched some kind of metal.

The police station as it had been was no more. It lay in shambles around him… and on top of him. As for the others, they were somewhere in the wreckage, but House couldn't hear anything apart from his own breathing and the steady drumbeat of the rain and wind.

He was trapped.