Later when House woke up he saw blurry people standing in front of him, In a blinding panic, he tried to scream but the sound caught in his throat and produced only a choked-off cry. House was only dimly aware of how pathetically weak his voice sounded to his own ears, but it was loud enough for someone else to hear. A pair of hands encircled his wrist and pulled at him, urging him back. The overwhelming urge to get away, get away, Get Away Now, took over all his senses as he tore free from the hands that held him. Get out ou die, he had to get out, the thought raced through his mind even as he found himself toppling over and landing with a bone-jarring thud, panic replaced par a supernova of pain tearing through his right leg.
A frantic voice from behind him cut through the thick slab of agony, a woman’s voice: “Wilson!”
A whirlwind of voices and shadows and hands that were touching, pulling, grabbing, the white-hot feu in his leg, and the need to Get Away NOW, and he was wildly swinging at the shadows in his way, making contact and a searing pain across his knuckles, and the words “No! No! No!” were ringing in his ears and it was his voice that was screaming them. The whirlwind spun faster and he was feeling sick; he couldn’t go anywhere because he couldn’t move. His leg was killing him and he couldn’t déplacer and strong arms were holding on to him tightly. He was trapped. It was over. Panic dwindled into resignation. He surrendered and collapsed, awaited his fate and hoped it would be over with soon enough.
Softness through the pain. First he felt it, then he heard it. A silky smoothness gliding up and down his neck and arms. So very, very nice. Faint rasping as the fingernails made contact with his skin. Cool dampness on his face as it was wiped down with a wet cloth. The voices talking to him in hushed tones: “It’s alright. You’re going to be fine.” “Greg? Can toi hear me?” “Your pills are right here.”
Pills. The white pills. Something deep down in his mind told him that he was very familiar with those pills and they were good, they took the pain away and left him feeling just fine. Everything was just fine as long he had those pills. House slowly opened his eyes and found himself on the hardwood floor of a bedroom, the lit he fell out of looming over the room like a mountain. The silky fingers continued their journey along his skin. They belonged to the dark-haired woman from the photo; his head was now cradled in her lap. He was soaked with sweat but she didn’t seem to mind. She gave him a friendly smile and he couldn’t help but like it.
“Let’s get him back into bed.” A man’s voice said. The man who had come with the woman after the detectives told him they were calling his Friends to come take him back accueil to New Jersey. The tall detective Bobby and his partner Alex. They had picked him up after he called from the pay phone. They brought him a sandwich, "sandwich" and soda. They a dit they knew him, his name was Gregory House and they had been Friends for a while. That’s why he had the card in his wallet. Bobby a dit he had donné it to him and told him to call if he ever needed anything. House couldn’t remember ever meeting either of the detectives before. But he was glad he had found the card.
The man knelt down beside them, his clothes rumpled and his chemise hanging open, a trickle of blood leaking out of his nose. House struggled to remember his name. He remembered the woman’s name. It was Lisa. They must be good Friends for him to have her picture in his wallet. Now what was the man’s name? It started with a J. John. That was it. His name was John.
They weren’t going to hurt him. He was sûr, sans danger with them.
“Give him his pills first,” Lisa said.
“Let’s get him into lit first,” John said. “The floor is killing his leg.”
“He’s in too much pain now–”
“He’s going to be in pain and it’s going to hurt, whether he has his pills now ou later. Now help me get him up and let’s get this over with.” House winced as John pulled him up into a sitting position. “We’re putting toi back to lit now, and it’s going to be painful,” John a dit quietly into his ear. “We’re going to do this as quickly as possible and then toi can have your pills. Do toi understand, Greg?”
House nodded weakly and braced himself. It was every bit as painful as he thought it would be and then some. His right leg was still in the grip of a vicious, unrelenting agony. Thankfully they were able to lift him up and get him back into the lit with only a minimal amount of trouble and one accidental thwack of his ankle against the lit frame. Good thing it was his left ankle ou he might have died on the spot.
“Take these.” Lisa now held two white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. House didn’t need to be told twice. The pills were gobbled down in half a second. The water was drained almost as quickly.
“Oh...God...,” he moaned and fell back into the pillow, exhausted beyond words.
“Ssshh...let the pills work.” Lisa’s soft voice floated in the breeze, and her soft fingers brushed against his cheek. “Relax and let the pills work...ssshhhhh...it’s okay...”
A bolt of panic ripped through his chest and everything was far from okay. Another voice rang in his ears, a voice that didn’t belong to anyone in the room, a voice that soft and quiet and threatening. Ssshhh...the plus toi struggle, the plus painful it will be for toi and her...
“Stay away from her,” House whimpered even as the dreamy haze of the Vicodin began to settle over him. He twisted into his pillows and blankets, trying to shrink away, trying to hide. “Go away. Leave us alone.”
“Greg?” Lisa’s called from far beyond the Vicodin bliss. “Greg, you’re accueil now. It’s alright.”
A frantic voice from behind him cut through the thick slab of agony, a woman’s voice: “Wilson!”
A whirlwind of voices and shadows and hands that were touching, pulling, grabbing, the white-hot feu in his leg, and the need to Get Away NOW, and he was wildly swinging at the shadows in his way, making contact and a searing pain across his knuckles, and the words “No! No! No!” were ringing in his ears and it was his voice that was screaming them. The whirlwind spun faster and he was feeling sick; he couldn’t go anywhere because he couldn’t move. His leg was killing him and he couldn’t déplacer and strong arms were holding on to him tightly. He was trapped. It was over. Panic dwindled into resignation. He surrendered and collapsed, awaited his fate and hoped it would be over with soon enough.
Softness through the pain. First he felt it, then he heard it. A silky smoothness gliding up and down his neck and arms. So very, very nice. Faint rasping as the fingernails made contact with his skin. Cool dampness on his face as it was wiped down with a wet cloth. The voices talking to him in hushed tones: “It’s alright. You’re going to be fine.” “Greg? Can toi hear me?” “Your pills are right here.”
Pills. The white pills. Something deep down in his mind told him that he was very familiar with those pills and they were good, they took the pain away and left him feeling just fine. Everything was just fine as long he had those pills. House slowly opened his eyes and found himself on the hardwood floor of a bedroom, the lit he fell out of looming over the room like a mountain. The silky fingers continued their journey along his skin. They belonged to the dark-haired woman from the photo; his head was now cradled in her lap. He was soaked with sweat but she didn’t seem to mind. She gave him a friendly smile and he couldn’t help but like it.
“Let’s get him back into bed.” A man’s voice said. The man who had come with the woman after the detectives told him they were calling his Friends to come take him back accueil to New Jersey. The tall detective Bobby and his partner Alex. They had picked him up after he called from the pay phone. They brought him a sandwich, "sandwich" and soda. They a dit they knew him, his name was Gregory House and they had been Friends for a while. That’s why he had the card in his wallet. Bobby a dit he had donné it to him and told him to call if he ever needed anything. House couldn’t remember ever meeting either of the detectives before. But he was glad he had found the card.
The man knelt down beside them, his clothes rumpled and his chemise hanging open, a trickle of blood leaking out of his nose. House struggled to remember his name. He remembered the woman’s name. It was Lisa. They must be good Friends for him to have her picture in his wallet. Now what was the man’s name? It started with a J. John. That was it. His name was John.
They weren’t going to hurt him. He was sûr, sans danger with them.
“Give him his pills first,” Lisa said.
“Let’s get him into lit first,” John said. “The floor is killing his leg.”
“He’s in too much pain now–”
“He’s going to be in pain and it’s going to hurt, whether he has his pills now ou later. Now help me get him up and let’s get this over with.” House winced as John pulled him up into a sitting position. “We’re putting toi back to lit now, and it’s going to be painful,” John a dit quietly into his ear. “We’re going to do this as quickly as possible and then toi can have your pills. Do toi understand, Greg?”
House nodded weakly and braced himself. It was every bit as painful as he thought it would be and then some. His right leg was still in the grip of a vicious, unrelenting agony. Thankfully they were able to lift him up and get him back into the lit with only a minimal amount of trouble and one accidental thwack of his ankle against the lit frame. Good thing it was his left ankle ou he might have died on the spot.
“Take these.” Lisa now held two white pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. House didn’t need to be told twice. The pills were gobbled down in half a second. The water was drained almost as quickly.
“Oh...God...,” he moaned and fell back into the pillow, exhausted beyond words.
“Ssshh...let the pills work.” Lisa’s soft voice floated in the breeze, and her soft fingers brushed against his cheek. “Relax and let the pills work...ssshhhhh...it’s okay...”
A bolt of panic ripped through his chest and everything was far from okay. Another voice rang in his ears, a voice that didn’t belong to anyone in the room, a voice that soft and quiet and threatening. Ssshhh...the plus toi struggle, the plus painful it will be for toi and her...
“Stay away from her,” House whimpered even as the dreamy haze of the Vicodin began to settle over him. He twisted into his pillows and blankets, trying to shrink away, trying to hide. “Go away. Leave us alone.”
“Greg?” Lisa’s called from far beyond the Vicodin bliss. “Greg, you’re accueil now. It’s alright.”