-Chapter Twelve-

Dare

The room was locked, police tape stretched across the broken window. House stood a moment, scanning his surroundings. When he was sure that no-one was looking, he pulled a paperclip from his pocket, and unbent it, sticking the end into the lock. It took him only moments to pick the mechanism. Satisfied with his work, he gave a tug at the sliding door, his brow furrowed as it glided smoothly to the end of the track. He looked back into the hallway for a moment, and stepped forwards into room D107.

At first glance, the room seemed relatively normal, minus the broken window. House paced the room on his crutches, searching the walls and floor for signs, clues to the struggle that had taken place a few days earlier. He retraced his steps, from the side of Kevin's bed to the window. Standing there, he replayed the scene over in his head.

He was standing on the left side of Kevin's bed when the first shot was fired. Kevin was still in his hospital bed. Which meant he would have been unsteady at the moment of the first shot, not to mention that he had been tangled up in the various wires attached to him. House took a step backwards at the loud report, then stepped forwards, swinging his cane in a rapid arc onto the boy's wrist. Kevin should have dropped the gun when the cane hit his wrist. The angle was right, he had swung it hard. He could have conceivably broken the boy's wrist. But Kevin had jerked away, shifted, almost as if he had anticipated the motion. At that moment, had anything been different about his attitude? House searched his memory, focusing on the boy's body language. Kevin flinched at the sudden movement, there had been fear in his eyes. His mouth was drawn out to a thin line, and he threw himself backwards to escape the blow. In a quick moment, he was back on his feet. But the second shot… House hadn't seen the second shot. He'd been looking for a way of escape. A gun was pointed at him, and in that situation, it was either escape or acquiescence. Since what he believed the boy had wanted was his death, the second option was out. The boy had, though, been more occupied with the gun than him… By the upwards trend of the injury on the boy's face. It meant that if Kevin had tried to kill himself, the bullet would be…

House looked to the ceiling, finding what he was looking for almost immediately. The second bullet hole. It was nowhere near where he had stood, and most probably behind where Kevin had been standing. Kevin hadn't shot at him.

House hurried out of the room, his crutches more of a hindrance than ever before. He growled, and quickened his pace. Kevin. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

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House slid open the door to room P187, rushing to the side of Kevin's bed. "You said you tried to kill yourself, right?"

Kevin gave a small nod of his head, trying to shy away.

"This is gonna hurt." House grabbed the edge of the bandage on the boy's face, and with one tug, ripped off of his face.

Kevin winced and gritted his teeth, but didn't make a sound.

The area around the newly scarring tissue was red and enflamed. House leaned closer, his eyes on not the wound, but the area around it. The skin was shiny and peppered with small red flecks no larger than grains of salt.

"When you said that you tried to shoot yourself, I forgot to look for one crucial thing. A gun that close to your face would not only leave a bullet wound, but the actual firing would leave flash burns. You're not lying."

Kevin sunk back into his pillow. "Y-you believe me?"

House ignored him and continued. "One thing bothers me. Suicide is easy in a hospital. Overdose on drugs, equipment malfunction, electrical shock… Why go through the trouble of smuggling a gun in? Either someone brought it in for you, or you've planned this from the beginning. Since you were unconscious from blood loss when you were admitted, it's unlikely that you would be able to plan your suicide." House leaned his crutches against the wall, and sat down at the foot of the hospital bed.

"I stole it."

"Oh, come off it. Whoever it was that had it would have either noticed you taking it, or noticed that it was gone."

"My f-foster father--"

"Quit it with the stuttering. It's annoying. You're fine, you're alive, I'm not going to hurt you. At least I don't intend to as of right now. If you have anything to be stuttering about, put it aside and just talk. You'll find things to be much easier to say if you aren't agonizing over what happens next." House leaned backwards against the footboard, and glanced up at Kevin. "Take a minute and talk when you're ready. I want to be able to understand what you say." He drummed his fingers on the edge of the bed, waiting. Finally…

"The family I live with now is from Texas. They brought me with, on vacation…--"

The boy spoke on, about his family, and House followed along in his head. One by one, things began to fit into place. Kevin rambled on, explaining everything he could, the words pouring out of him, and House listened in silence…

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Half an hour after Gregory House had entered room P187, a common, though significant occurrence happened. Simultaneously, in three different areas of the hospital, three pagers began to emit their respective tones.

-Drs Cameron, Foreman, Chase to ICU room P187.

STAT.

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