Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind

a tale spun by Mayor Tokey

Rating: R

Summary: The local police have all but given up finding the evidence necessary to put Mort Rainey in prison. That doesn't mean The CIA doesn't have plans in store involving a young rookie named Sheldon Jeffrey Sands.

Disclaimer: Don't own House don't own Merrie… we don't own anything. Think Robert Rodriguez will trade SJ for a stick of gum?

Author's Notes: Dedicated to the Fiend… er… Merrie. Who said House and SJ couldn't get along? You were right.

Damsels in Distress, Part 2

Sands had popped his fair share of pills before, but the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. There was no feeling in his feet. There was little feeling anywhere in his body. And pills for the sake of being cool wouldn't help his tarnished reputation.

He struggled to sit up, needing to at least be taller than Dr. House. And while Sands was upright, he figured he may as well find out what happened to his feet. He lifted a sheet, only to find a perfectly normal leg and foot below. Two, in fact. He glanced at House suspiciously before looking again beneath the sheets.

"Where'd my feet go? Did you screw on prosthetics when I wasn't looking or am I going to have a hell of a case of pins and needles in a few minutes?"

"I couldn't say what the other doctors have done to you. I'm only here to do what they've ordered: a psychiatric examination." The doctor shrugged and, looking at Sands, said blatantly, "I wouldn't put it past them to have just given your feet a good shot of some sort of anesthetic. Feel better though don't they?"

"I feel like a fucking invalid," Sands' eyes narrowed dangerously. "And that's one thing I have no patience for. I want to be fixed and get the fuck out of here. My partner's caught my enemy by now, and all I want to do is torture the hell out of him and send him on his merry way. Into the Company's loving arms, of course. Is that so wrong?"

Dr. House looked at Sands skeptically. "Did the company teach you to be so loving too?"

"Well, I'd hardly call my loving, love, you see. I'd call it a strong loathing towards all things living, if you don't mind," Sands' mouth quirked into a smile. Hell, if he was going to be evaluated, he might as well have fun with it.

House's eyebrows furrowed. "I see," he murmured and made a note on his notepad to later put on his infamous white board. "And why do you feel that way?" He asked, ever the perfect psychiatrist he clearly wasn't. It wasn't as if he gave a damn anyway.

"Well, I've been feeling this way-" Sands broke off as he saw a flash of reddish hair flash by his door. "Who's that?"

"She's a person. I would've thought you'd be able to see that. Do you need your eyes checked?"

Sands shivered, but recovered quickly. "Is she a doctor?"

"If you could call her that, sure, be my guest," House snorted. He made a mental note to record the shudder at a later date.

"Then tell her to get her ass in here and give me a second opinion."

"So I'm not good enough, you need Merrie to give you advice."

"Yes, Merrie, fine," Sands reclined in bed, trying to find his balance. He needed to get out of there. House took note of the tiredness, but obliged with Sands' request.

"Merrie, you've been enlisted in the fight against psychoticness. Patient's request," House stuck his head out the door to catch the red head's attention.

Merrie turned at the voice of her favorite doctor. She grinned at his words. "I'm wanted? To fight psychoticness?" She laughed almost manically as she walked into the room. She looked Sands over and crossed her arms, frowning.

"Hm."

Sands scowled. "I'm not a slab of beef."

"Tsk, tsk. I'm not all that hungry really." She looked over to House. "What's the diagnosis, or have you reached one yet?"

House smiled sourly. "Well, let's just say he's not the most cooperative of patients and conforming to my demands."

Sands grinned sweetly.

Merrie just shook her head. "Now why won't you cooperate with the good doctor here? Would you cooperate with me? I know I'm easier on the eyes but really, he's not all that bad."

"A regular troll," House rolled his eyes. Merrie raised her eyebrows at him, then returned her attention to Sands.

"What exactly is the problem here? Why do you need to see a psychiatrist? From the six words I've heard from your mouth, you seem perfectly sane to me. You certainly look sane, but we all know looks can be deceiving." She gave House a pointed look.

"You know, that's exactly what I said?" Sands nodded seriously. "Honestly, from the way they tie me up and drug me and do all sorts of horrible things to me, you'd think that I was some kind of dastardly criminal. Whadduya think Doc? Am I a dastardly criminal?" Sands' pointed look was directed at House.

"I think you're a ham, not beef, and you need to be let go before you drive the nursing staff insane as well. But that's just me. A degree in disease diagnosis and nobody believes a thing I say anyway," House grumbled.

"Should we?" Merrie asked innocently.

"He can't walk," House pointed out sarcastically. "That's where you were supposed to come in."

"Ah yes…" She went to lift the covers at the foot of his bed. "All they did really was inject something to loosen the tendons. They were just strained." She pinched one of his big toes and, seeing no reaction, grinned. "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none, and this little piggy-"

Sands slapped her hand away with a warning look.

"My tendons seized up at the same exact time. On both feet. You sure about that, chica?"

She shrugged. "That's what the EMT's said. You're not in pain anymore are you?" she asked.

"No... quite the contrary. I feel abso-fucking-lutely nothing," Sands hissed.

"If I were you I wouldn't be complaining. The numbness will wear off soon enough, and you'll feel as though your feet are the size of clown shoes." She chuckled, "I'll have to come round to see you up on them."

"I had frost bite! What the fuck happened to the frost bite?"

"Oh…yes…that…" She looked down at his left foot. "We had to amputate one of your toes…" She looked at him dead serious.

The color drained from his face. The muscles in his body clenched simultaneously.

"Tell me you're fucking kidding me."

She shook her head sadly. "It's the middle one, oddly enough. Kinda looks like a frog's foot. Like it's webbed," she mused.

"Oh… my…Christ…" he whispered. He'd been knocked out…sedated against his will…sliced open…amputation. He made a gurgling sound low in his throat, trying to come up with something to say.

"If it makes you feel even the tiniest bit better, it's not as if you use your middle toe for very much," House shrugged. "You'll be back on your feet in no time. Assuming, you eat your green vegetables and so forth."

The corners of Merrie's lips turned up a little bit, but she quickly frowned as she noticed Sands' restlessness and anxiety about the loss of a limb. "Hey. Hey!" She moved up on his other side, by his head, and waved her hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. "I was just kidding. Your middle toe is still intact. The frost bite wasn't serious enough for the need to amputate. Helloooo?" He didn't seem to be listening or even hearing her, despite the fact that she was practically speaking into his ear.

Dr. Adams' big, horsy teeth were glinting in the bright, reflected light above Sands' head. He was talking about the procedure, oblivious to the fact that his patient wasn't listening. Sands was trying very hard not to freak out. The diagrams and graphic images of things that could go wrong were giving his stomach the impression that it was okay to puke. In truth, it probably was.

"This is a very dangerous procedure, Mr. Sands."

"But you won't be cutting anything off."

"On the contrary, you might never be able to see again."

"I'll take that chance."

"You died! You were officially dead on the operating table! They had to take the defibrillator to your heart! It stopped, you were dead, dead, dead, dead, dead!"

"Dead…?"

House traded glances with Merrie, wondering what she was making of this phenomenon. Merrie was looking at Sands warily.

"You're not dead, you're alive." She glanced at House. "You're the psychiatrist."

"No I'm not," House commented off handedly, before peeling Sands' lower eyelid down to get a look at the pupil. It looked relatively normal, nothing suggesting brain damage. House almost suspected he saw some scarring on the cornea, but Sands closed his eyes before House could confirm it. "Hey, mind getting yourself under control here...?" House paused. He didn't know the guy's name. He looked to Merrie, hoping she might.

"Sands." She remarked, looking at House, but really speaking to the man in the bed. "Sands, snap out of it!" She snapped her fingers near his ear, causing his eyes to fly open.

"Sands? That's not his first name. People respond to their first name." House checked Sands' pulse, noticing the jump in heart rate at the auditory stimuli.

"Not this guy. I'm guessing bad childhood. But if you want the first name, it's Sheldon."

"Watch," House smirked. He leaned in close to Sands' ear. "Wakey, wakey, Sheldon. You have to wake up and say hello to the nice people by your bedside."

Sands whimpered and tried to burrow under the covers. Merrie's eyebrows furrowed as she watched the reaction from Sands' given name spoken aloud. She shrugged. "I suppose it's not hurting him. Getting more of a reaction than I was anyways..." She looked down at Sands who was now almost cringing. "Wakey, wakey Sheldon," she whispered.

"So killing me's not enough?" he snarled from his position under the covers. "Why don't you drill my fucking eyes out while you're at it!"

House frowned. That was the second reference to eyes he'd seen this patient react to. He would like very much to know what was so traumatizing to this man about eyes.

"I don't know; would you like us to? I'm sure we can get a surgeon on it right away," House shrugged. Sands made and animal noise, but didn't move.

Merrie just shook her head, listening to the bickering between the two men. "You two act like children!"

She leaned over Sands and lifted an eyelid to examine one of his eyes-just to be sure. Her heart leapt into her throat when Sands' hand grabbed her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go near my fucking eyes," he hissed. He twisted her wrist viciously, causing her to gasp aloud. He never saw House's cane descend on his hand from above. The cane smacked him smartly on the hand, eliciting an enraged gasp from Sands.

"Look, I'm fascinated with your eye fetish, I really am, but you're going to have to take your hand off the duckling. The doctor," he amended quickly. "They're pretty, yes, but they're just for looking, not for touching."

Merrie managed a smirk through her grimace of pain. She rubbed her wrist vigorously, but was still concerned more about the stubborn brute lying in bed.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" She asked looking from House to Sands. She watched his face as he answered; looking for any signs that could be construed as pain.

"No! Nothing! I'm fucking fine! Go away!" Sands yelled, crawling back under the covers again. House discretely made the universal sign of the whacko. Merrie gave him a stern look and gently peeled back the covers.

"Why do you keep hiding under there?" she asked, being the psychiatrist since Dr. House didn't seem to be.

"Because maybe you might go the fuck away!"

"Why do you want us to go away so desperately?" She looked over at House, hoping for something-anything-to help her get him to communicate.

"What do you think?" said the muffled voice under the covers.

"I think you're certifiably crazy and in need of psychological help but you're too damn stubborn to accept any," House offered.

"Fuck you!"

"Told you he doesn't love me," House frowned. Merrie just rolled her eyes.

"Who does?" she smirked at him. "Will you please just let him do his evaluation? Get him off both our backs?"

"Tell him to go fuck himself and I might consider."

"Well, that certainly helps my cause. Enjoys watching and or listening to kinky sex," House mock wrote on his clipboard. He didn't enjoy working with patients on this level, and while this guy was his most amusing case this week, House still wanted this to end by any means necessary.

"Would you please just be serious for ten seconds and I promise you I'll see that you never have to see him again? Which is more than I can say for myself!" She gave House a pointed look.

"You signed up to heal this guy? Are you stupid or do you just think he's hot? Tell me honestly." House cocked an eyebrow.

"I was talking to him!" She hissed between her teeth. "But now that you mention it..." She smirked, anticipating a reaction from Sands. "He is kinda cute." She gave House a knowing smile as Sands shifted under the covers, his ego having been stroked.

"Then maybe you ought to just stop giving me that suggestive look of yours. It just screams 'I want you.' Might want to work on that. Unless you're not telling me something, of course."

Merrie sighed in exasperation and threw up her arms. "Hey buddy." She shook Sands roughly. "If you don't want to be alone with Psycho shrink over there, you'd best come out and converse with him." Her face was tinged a bright pink as she thought about what House had said.

Does he really see how I feel? she wondered nervously. She was anxious to be out of his company; it was a bit unnerving.

"Tom will bail me out," Sands said airily. I hope.

"For your sake, he'd better, whoever he is," House groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "I'd hate to have you spend another minute in this hospital with the rampant, horny doctors around here."

Tom shuffled through the door having heard the last comment. "What? Oh dear Lord! What has he done gotten himself into this time?" Tom shook his head, attempting to make light of what seemed to be a tense situation. Indeed, it was going to be getting much tenser very soon.

"Well, your friend here seems to have a problem with his eyes, but because he's being a pain in the ass and not opening up, I couldn't tell you what kind of a problem or why. You've got yourself a moody, temperamental, possibly depressed friend. If I felt prescribing Prozac would help, I would, but I know he's not going to take it so I'm not killing a tree to tell him he can throw good pills down the drain. You might as well check him out of this place before he has a seizure. Does that sound like a plan? Because I think it does," House smiled emotionlessly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up just a minute there Doc!" He looked from Sands to House. "Now just tell me what the hell is going on! What's wrong with your eyes?" He turned to Sands, then back to House. "And why does he need Prozac?" Tom's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he glanced from Sands, to House, and back again.

"Because your friend isn't quite all there..." House tapped his temple, "in the head. You know what I mean. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get going. Need a jump on my next psycho case." He nodded briskly, popped another little white pill, and took his leave.

"Asshole," Sands growled.

Tom watched House leave, then turned back to Sands. "I take it you had a nice eval?" Tom smirked as he moved to stand near Sands' bed. But not too close.

"Fuck you, Tom," he sighed tiredly. He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at Merrie, who still hadn't left. "And what are you doing?"

She stood off to the side. "Making sure you don't harm yourself." She grinned at him sweetly. Tom smirked and walked over to her.

"I'm Tom," he said, extending his hand. She nodded.

"Merrie." She didn't shake his hand.

Tom's grin faltered a bit at the coolness of the doctor, his hand falling back to his side. He went to stand near Sands' bed. "Did she ever tell you what was wrong with your feet?" He asked Sands, ignoring the fact that she was standing several yards away and very capable of answering the question herself.

"Tendons, who knew? Now stop hitting on the help and get me out of here, Tommy boy." When Tom moved forward to help, Sands noticed the distinct lack of a prisoner. "Tom, where's Mort?"

Tom frowned. "Uhm…" He looked away, catching Merrie's smirk as she left the room.

"I don't think I heard you the first time. Where's Mort?" Sands' voice got soft, the key sign he was getting dangerously pissed off.

"Uhm…yeah…you see…" He took a step back, scratching the back of his neck while avoiding Sands' stare.

"Tom. What happened?"

"Well he just went out for a cigarette and he was limping and there was no way he could run away so I just sat in the coffee shop and then we noticed him limping rather quickly to the end of the block…" He was babbling, he knew, but he'd faced Sands' anger many times before, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

"We?"

"Uh yeah…" he grinned sheepishly. "You remember Sara right?"

"Who?"

Tom nodded his head to the side. "You know…the paramedic from last night…?"

"What about her?" Sands' eyes narrowed, though he knew what was coming.

"Well, I kinda ran into her in the lobby and well…She came along with me to the coffee shop." He gave Sands a feeble smile.

"You asked her to come with you to a…coffee shop." Sands knew that an effective interrogation technique was to repeat everything the suspect said back to him. He'd get confused eventually and trip over a lie. The hard part was remembering everything that had already been said. That was why it was Sands' second favorite technique, behind torture.

"Well, no-er yes-but that's where Mort was!" Tom frowned. He hated it when Sands interrogated him like he was a criminal.

"You took an innocent with you to face a dangerous criminal. Smart move, Tom, very intelligent."

"No-I…" He began to protest, when he realized what Sands was doing. "Oh come off it! He wouldn't hurt a fly!" Unless it bit him, Tom thought to himself.

"You didn't see his eyes, did you, Tom?"

"What?" He thought back to the coffee shop, when Mort's eyes had flashed. "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" he asked, confused.

"You don't realize he's schizophrenic, do you?"

"What? He's a schizo? How do you know that? And since when have you been qualified to make such judgments? Dr. House didn't see anything wrong with him or I'm certain he would've requested him being admitted."

"Dr. House is a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist. I majored in psychology, I know these things. That automatically makes me a better psychiatrist than that House guy. Mort's not really schizo, though; he's got MPD. What you automatically think of as schizophrenia."

"What? What?" Tom scratched his head furiously, knowing Sands was trying to confuse him. "You-you just said he is schizophrenic, and now he's not?" His face was turning red from frustration.

"He could be schizo; I never got a chance to screw with his head. I know for sure he has MPD. Something everybody seems to want to call 'schizophrenia.' I didn't know if you were keeping up with you psychological disorders," Sands smirked.

Tom frowned and shook his head. "I really don't care. Neither one of you is sane!" He changed the subject abruptly before Sands could protest. "When did they say we can get out of here?" He was beginning to feel antsy himself.

"They didn't," Sands sighed.

"Oh…" Tom looked at the door. "Should I call the doc back in or get ol' Betty Sue?"

"Tom, now's really not the time to be thinking with your dick."

"What?" He looked at Sands questioningly.

"Why do you want Merrie or Betty Sue back, then?"

"Uh…to find out when you can get out of here perhaps?" he said sarcastically.

"Why not ask Dr. House?"

"Because he's not your doctor?"

"I haven't got a doctor. That Merrie was some random chick who was wandering around outside my door."

"I see. So how did you find out what was wrong with your feet?"

"I still don't know. They're lying. I know it. Doctors are fucking chronic liars."

Tom rolled his eyes sighing heavily. "Ok, doctors are liars, but how are your feet feeling?"

"I wouldn't know, I've got no feeling in them," Sands snapped.

"Ok!" He held up his hands. Then he began to think about it, and a grin spread across his face. "So if I cut off one of your toes…?"

He moved towards Sands' feet with an evil smirk. Sands casually picked up the plastic fork from his untouched food.

"You want to do that, Tommy boy? I like you, but not that much."

Tom couldn't help but laugh at Sands' weapon of choice. Sure it was one of the few items available to him, but it was still comical. He didn't stop moving towards the foot of Sands bed though. When he reached Sands feet, he grabbed one of them, making certain to steer clear of the fork. He pinched the foot as hard as he could, and watched as the color slowly began to return to Sands' foot.

Sands frowned, watching his toe go from dark maroon to bright white. Tom glanced over to find out where Sands was looking, when the bedridden agent stabbed Tom in the side with the fork. It didn't pierce skin, but it did hurt.

Tom leaped into the air. "Oh shit! Ow!" He cried out, rubbing the spot where the fork had stabbed him. He glared at Sands. "I'm trying to get you out of here! You can't go nowhere with numb feet, dumbass!"

Sands thought for a minute. He saw two ways out, a wheel chair and an only slightly more appealing option.

"You can carry me out."

"Hell no! There's no way I'm gonna-" He was cut off by having to jump back as the fork came towards him again. "Fine! But how're you gonna get anywhere? I can't carry you everywhere!"

"Then just hope I get better before bingo by 6, right?"

Tom just sighed. "Let's avoid another strip show though, eh?" He tossed Sands his jeans, and turned his back towards him.