AN: I'm going to warn you now, there's going to be a pretty nasty scene a bit later on. If you get icked out by the thought of blood or torture, please don't read. This chapter is probably an M. T at a push. Proceed at your own risk.

AN2: Sorry about the slightly long time between updates. School starts again tomorrow, so expect about one update a week. Sorry.

Chapter 4

As the pain began to diminish, Tritter came back into focus again. He was still crouched over House, hands resting firmly on House's thigh. Tritter gave a smile, his eyes narrowed in sadistic pleasure. House knew what he was about to do.

"No," he gasped. God, he hated himself. What was he becoming? What was Tritter making him? He was so weak, so afraid of the pain. It was all about the fucking pain. Tritter couldn't twist the muscle again. He couldn't take the pain again.

Tritter laughed. "What did you say, Dr. House?"

"Please," House rasped, "Please don't." He was on the verge of saying 'I'll do anything', but he wasn't that far gone yet. He could fight this. It was just pain, just a feeling. He could get through it. He could. He would.

Another low laugh from Tritter. "Your pleading is worthless, House. You should have realized a long time ago that actions have consequences. It's too late now."

Tritter applied a little more pressure to the wasted quad muscle. House knew exactly what Tritter was trying to do. The pain would start small and grow with an enormous crescendo into complete agony. House knew what he had to look forward to, and it wasn't going to be fun.

The pressure increased by another small amount, as did the pain. House gasped, hating himself for his lack of control. Tritter must be having the time of his life, House thought bitterly. After all, this was what Tritter had wanted all along – for House to be miserable, embarrassed and, above all, humbled. Well, no amount of pain was going to convince House that he had been in the wrong. House took narcotics because he was in pain. Wilson had realized that, in the end. Admittedly, Wilson still wasn't exactly happy about House's Vicodin use, but while House had been in rehab, the two of them had looked at alternative methods of pain management together, and concluded that opiates were the only things that were really going to help. Of course, Cuddy had shot the idea of House being back on the narcotics down straight away. Fair enough. Any sane person would choose a clean doctor over a drug-addicted one. Still, Wilson got it. Wilson was the only person that really mattered.

Jesus, he wished that Wilson was with him.

The pain was growing – Tritter was clearly impatient, and didn't want to waste time with building the pain up slowly. House bit his lip, clenching his teeth down harder as the pain became almost intolerable. He was barely aware of the blood running down his chin. All he could think about was the pain, the ever-increasing pain. Distantly he heard Tritter laughing, and he felt a rough hand wipe the blood across his face. That meant that Tritter was no longer pressing. But the pain was still there, still unbearable. He was a fraction of an inch away from screaming, but he knew he couldn't allow himself to do that. He had to keep at least some of his dignity. Screaming would be admitting that Tritter had indeed broken him, just as he'd promised.

And it was fading again, slowly, but definitely getting better. It was just as well. He couldn't have taken much more.

But Tritter was still squatting next to him, and he still had a strange look in his eye – a combination of anticipation, excitement and satisfaction. Then those rough hands were being wrapped around his thigh again, except this time there was no twisting, no compressing, his hands were moving the wrong way. They were both moving in opposite directions, slowly but surely. He managed to raise his head, and oh God, as the pain built up once more he watched, as though detached from his body, as his femur broke in half and the end of one piece of bone was poking out through the skin. There was blood running down his leg, and he should have been in so much pain. Tritter had just snapped his thigh bone in half. Why wasn't he in pain?

Tritter was still bending. Damn, his femur was going to need pinning back together. And there was so much blood. Why was the blood getting to him? He was a doctor, for God's sake. Why was he suddenly feeling so dizzy, and-

The pain hit him like a bus. He couldn't help it. He screamed out loud, and kept on screaming, his throat growing raw as he desperately tried to push through the pain, the overwhelming pain, he couldn't think of anything else. Let him pass out, let him die. He didn't care which. He would have given his leg for a syringe of morphine.

There was a thought in the back of his mind, pushing through the haze of pain. He had lost control. He was still screaming, even now. Tritter had won. Fuck it, Tritter had won.

And then he was finally falling into oblivion.

About time.