Breaking Point

Escape
Plunkett & MacLane
Craig Armstrong

Sweat covers Greg's face and chest as he strains to push down on Clarence's strong hands, face contorted with breath-held effort. Suddenly the giant stops resisting, House's hands dropping to the mattress as he heaves back to relaxation. Knocking on the side rail gets his attention just as a piece of bumpy paper is eased over his hand.

Calloused fingertips pass over the Brail text, studious expression on Greg's face as he goes through the legal document full of big words written in impersonal grammar form. At the phrase 'full pardon' his heart skips a beat, eyes wide and brows high. He swallows a huge lump, not expecting to be so impacted by the verdict. Euphoricaly he flies through the rest of the text, mentioning all medical expenses covered by the state, and a major compensation in the form of Thompson's possessions.

Male hands reach for the binds to untie him completely and all House can do is stand mesmerized at the feeling of free wrists. Lisa steps up to engulf him in a congratulatory hug, his hands still in the air around her as Clarence gives him a light jab on the shoulder. Moment's later she finger-spells 'You have visitors.' in his free hand.

The room fills with deeply ingrained scents of earthen aftershave and lavender perfume, his vitals skyrocketing at the feminine scent, heartrending disappointment crowning his mind. At the jostle of bed he sinks deeper under the covers, head turned away and hyperventilating. A frail, old hand clasps his cheek with loving tenderness, contact making nightmarish thoughts all too real.

"NOOO!!" House screams despite the bruning in his throat, arching to writhe up the bed and escape unwanted contact of wrinkled and scarred skin. "NO! No. Why? No-ho-ho." Words are inconsistent blubbering as he struggles to keep from her touch. House senior pins him down by the shoulders, Greg unable to fend him off.

Herculean hands grab hold of his flaying ones, stilling them in their strong grip. Parents backed off, House stops resisting. As he lies trembling in bed, Clarence gets a chance to maneuver his hands into Greg's grasp.

'What's wrong, Doc?' The man signs, the need to translate the new conversation method forcing House to think rather than feel and providing cool down time.

"Not real." The whisper is barely audible, House fearing the guard's revenge for his earlier outburst of shouting. "Nothing real." The words cut like shards of broken glass .

'Why?'

"Too good." House speaks more to himself than anyone else. "Knew it was too good."

'How come?'

"She's dead." He whimpers like a child guiltily admitting a mistake. "They said she died. Said he came to see me, tell me my death sentence killed her. I Killed her." His rant dies in sniffled tears.

'Doc…' Clarence gets his attention. '…they lied.'

Bone deep guilt melts from House, shaky smile stretching across his face against teeth sunk into lower lip. A snort escapes, exploding to hysterical laughter at the thought of actually believing his tormentors. That the personal truism of 'everybody lies' never occurred to him in relation to the lawyer leaves House wondering what remained of his old self if even the bullshit detector failed. Laughing to tears, he feels body wracking sobs fight their way in.

Large hands reach carefully under his armpits, lifting him up like a helpless infant as he takes hold of broad shoulders in fear of falling. Forehead leant on Clarence's burly chest, House feeds the growing stain on the man's scrubs. But the orderly turns him around to face Blythe and John, three tiny chips in her ring stroking his cheek bone.

Letting go of Clarence House nigh falls over her, thin arms wrapped round small form, fists gripping the silky fabric of her blouse. "They hurt me mom." He moans into the curve of her neck. "They hurt me so bad."

Blythe keeps patting his upper back, other hand stroking the length of his spine. Even John makes physical contact, firm grip on his son's shoulder reassuring of future safety.