Chapter Eleven

Sunday morning dawned way too early for any civilized person. Greg actually got up before the sun. If you could call laying in bed tossing and turning for hours sleeping; then yes, he 'woke up'. Customarily an overnight flight was considered a red-eye, but today it was the six a.m. flight across the country. He dressed as quickly as possible, unable to soak in a hot bath this morning for lack of time. A glance at his watch informed him the taxi was probably outside waiting. He donned his motorcycle jacket, slung his book bag over his shoulder, readied his cane and proceeded to drag his luggage out into the hall before locking the door.

The cabbie had been here to take him to the airport before. He didn't hesitate to take the valise and satchel to the car so that House was free to negotiate the stairs unencumbered. The ride to Newark took no time at all considering the roads were deserted at this god forsaken hour.

The taxi pulled right up to the terminal in front of the sky cap. Greg extracted himself while the hack pulled out his luggage. Greg nodded his thanks, tipping the guy. He then hobbled over to the counter to check in his roll along. Since he was taking advantage of his handicap, he kept the knapsack with him.

A tired old man, who looked like he needed the wheelchair more than House, walked across the lobby towards him. Greg took the seat feeling a little foolish.

At security he handed over his boarding pass and drivers' license. Being in a wheelchair made going through the TSA checkpoint twice as tough. He tossed his cane and pack on the conveyor belt. He toed off his shoes placing them in the plastic bin along with the contents of his pockets and his belt.

He was waved through the metal detector. Aggravated by the whole process, he played up the limp and headed through. The lights flashed red as the alarms went off.

"Crap," he mumbled, backing through. He patted his pockets, then realized he still had his watch on. He removed it and noticed his jacket had some metal too. He shrugged it off, tossing it on the conveyor belt.

The TSA agent beckoned him to walk through again.

Greg held his hand over his thigh and gimped through the metal frame as red lights and alarms went off again.

"Spread your legs, arms out to your side."

"Which one of you is going to pick me up off the floor when I fall down?"

The female agent stifled a giggle.

Greg assumed a modified version of 'the position'. Thankfully it was a male running the wand around his body. The female was kind of cute and he was afraid his body would betray him.

The wand emitted a high-pitched scream in the area around his hips.

"What the hell?"

"Turn out your pockets, please."

House struggled to comply. There was nothing in them.

"Sir, I'm going to have to pat you down."

"Like hell you are."

Two more guards showed up.

"If you want to get on a plane, you're going to have to comply."

"Do I have to be humiliated in public?"

"We can step over to the room on the left."

"I need my cane."

"You'll have to leave it outside the room," the agent warned.

"As long as you're taking responsibility for any injuries suffered from me falling down…"

"We'll take care of you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," House grumbled.

He was sure this would be a waste of time as they frisked him. By request he was allowed to stand up against the wall facing it with his hands at shoulder width, supporting him.

The cockier of the male agents started on the left leg making House a little nervous. "Take it easy on the right. I've got a bad leg."

The guys eyed each other with suspicion.

Greg hissed with pain an annoyance as hands groped his mangled thigh. "Hey!"

"Drop your pants."

"What?" Greg's hands left the wall as he turned to face them.

A taller agent pushed him up against the wall. "Steady there."

"Fuck me! You guys are man handling me and then telling me to drop trou'."

The other agent got on his radio. "We have a 10-66 at the Delta Terminal, Room one-eleven."

"Yeah, get your supervisor here. My civil rights are being violated," House raged.

"Every passenger has a right to their safety."

"What about my safety? I'd like you to put every passenger through this."

The door opened revealing a very military looking presence. Greg stumbled backward, sliding slightly down the wall.

"What's the problem?" He glared at the passenger.

"These guys felt me up, then ordered me to take off my pants," House said defiantly.

"You've got a problem with that?"

"I've got a big problem with that."

"Are you hiding something."

"Sort of," Greg swallowed nervously. Before he could do or say anything else, hands were dragging him back up the wall."

For a moment he saw his father standing before him when the guard called out "Strip search him."

"Don't touch me," he bellowed and began thrashing. The door crashed open and two more guards entered. The last thing he needed was reinforcements.

"Get your hands off of him," the female yelled to be heard over his panicked shouting. She pulled a chair over and offered it to the passenger. Greg was dropped into it. "You guys get out."

House leaned over with his head between his knees in order to combat his dizziness and nausea.

The female agent glared at the surveillance camera in the corner. "Sir, I'm going to need to pass the wand over your hips again. When you can, would you please stand." She waited patiently while never taking her eyes off of Mr. Military.

House stood shakily, leaning heavily on the chair. The woman swept the wand at hip level. The mechanism beeped. Greg hung his head in frustration.

"If you could, please unzip our pants and peel the waist band over. You can show him." She turned her back giving him some privacy. She heard the zipper sliding down. "Sir," she said, addressing her superior, "if you look closely, this particular brand of jeans uses a reverse rivet to secure the seams of the front pockets."

"So it does," he said barely looking at the victim.

"I think we can excuse him now."

"Fair enough," he grunted and left the room.

"Thank-you." Greg's voice caught in his throat.

She continued to avoid looking at him until he finished zipping his pants. "I can't excuse what they did, just how they went about it." She opened the door and retrieved his cane.

Greg snatched it from her. The sky cap rushed over with the chair. Greg still had to return to the scanners and pick up everything else.

The sky cap delivered him to the hands of the Boarding Crew. Because of the delays at security, there was only a brief wait to board. Greg was brought via wheelchair up the jet way to the plane's hatch. There a flight attendant took his backpack while he hobbled his way into first class.

"Your seat is on the left inside. Would you like me to stow your carry-on or hang your jacket?"

Greg shrugged out of the leather. She helped him out of it and waited for him to take his seat. He reached out for his pack.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Scotch," he sighed heavily. "Make it a double."

She disappeared to prepare his drink. He was thankful she didn't question him. His nerves were shot and they hadn't even taxied to the runway yet. He was hoping the two drinks would help him doze off once they were in the air.