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Sunday, 7:00 p.m. EST. Houseís living room. House and Wilson, a.k.a. Greg and James (because dammit, theyíre shorter to type out and Iím lazy! Er, I = Grotesque. Any other notes you see here are me), sit boredly, when Greg perks up suddenly, realizing something. Greg: Oh, hey. I have someone coming over today to visit. James: You have other friends? Greg: I thought we already covered this. James: OkayÖ Who is it? Greg: Would you believe someone I met on the internet? James: Ö Greg: Her nicknameís Grotesque. Grotto, for short. James: Donít suppose she has a real name? Greg: Yeah, but she hates it; donít ask. James: Gotcha. Greg: I told her to bring friends if she wanted. James: Well, this is going to be a catastropheÖ Edited and reposted. Editing my longer fics for reposting. Probably won't be up for a while. James: Who is this, anyway? Greg: Remember when I told you aboutÖ That creepy chickÖ? James: The one that trolled your friends? Yeah. Greg: This is her. James: Oh dear. At this moment, enter Grotesque and three companions: Tux, Kiki the succubus, and Sirra the marilith (Google it, assholes). Grotto: Whattup, Gurge*? Greg: Natch. We were about to read badfic by J-Bo. Grotto: Oh, I GOTTA get in on this one. Greg: Hoyes. But donít be rude, introduce us to yourÖ Er, friends from the station. Thing. I thought they couldnít leave? Grotto: The Sixth Wall was kind enough to create a plot hole for them in return for the day off. So if we cross the line, no oneís here to stop us. Greg: Woo! Grotto: Well, anywayÖ This is TuxÖ Heís my boyfriend. Tux: I'm what now? Grotto: This is Kiki, sheís a succubus. Kiki (clinging to Tux): Yes, that I am. Tux: Woman; get off of me already. Grotto: And this is Sirra. Sheís a marilith, which by my understanding is just a giant snake. Sirra: Don't call me a snake, ape. Greg: Well, as long as everyone fits. James: Seriously. We need to buy a HOUSE. Sirra: This place is rather small. Kiki: That's because you're nine feet tall love. [*My best friendís name is Greg, I nicknamed him Gurge.] Justice: Grotto: FOR GREAT JUSTICE Greg: NEVAR FORGIVE, NEVAR FORGET Tux: Don't forget move every zig. Kiki (sitting in Tux's lap): What is it with you and strange things like that? Tux: The same thing it is with you and tormenting me every night. Sirra: Still as grumpy as ever. Gregory House was glued to the road, Grotto: Welllll THAT would be awkward! Tux: Where are the train, and the man with the handlebar mustache? Greg: Heh, Iím usually glued to something else- James: -SHUT UP. his long, denim clad legs hugging the 1000cc engine of his Honda Repsol. Kiki: I know I like to have legs around me; or my legs around someone. Tux: Seriously, get off my lap already. Sirra: You already know that's not going to happen. It was already dark, since it was early December, Sirra: I hate the cold. Tux: Why am I not surprised; I mean you live in hell after all. and it had rained several times during the week. Grotto: Dude, it RAINS in DECEMBER where you live? Greg: ÖEvidently. Tux: Hell, lucky you. Kiki: No, lucky you Tux; I'm sitting in your lap after all. Tux: It's never a lucky day when I see you. Kiki (pinching Tux's cheek): Oh, you're so cute when you're angry! The lights from the traffic signals, street lamps and buildings twinkled and reflected in the wet asphalt. Kiki: I know I like things nice and wet. Sirra: Not a surprise there. He felt the throb in his James: PANTS! Greg: Ö James: What? I can be fun and unpredictable too! Greg: ÖYeah, sure. Okay. Right. James: What? Greg: Try bringing that unpredictability of yours to bed, next time. James: ÖYou suck. Kiki: Not as good as I do I'm willing to bet. Tux: Someone just kill me. Sirra: You'd think you'd be happy to see us at least once. thigh returning, reminding him that this was not the weather for anyone, Tux: Rain never hurt anyone. Kiki: I want to make love to you in the rain. Grotto: Ö Tux: Woman; what the hell are you going on about? Sirra: He can never just play along can he? Kiki (pouting): No he can't, meanie. Grotto: Ö Kiki: ÖWhat? Grotto: Back. The fuck. Off. Kiki: I saw him first. Grotto: My ass, you did. (Grits teeth) let alone a crippled person, Sirra: I crippled a man once, then gutted him and fed him his own entrails. Twice. Kiki: Good times. to be riding in. Once he was home, he could soothe himself with thirty milligrams of vicodin and a glass of overpriced Scotch. Tux: Or taco sauce. Kiki: I can make it myself if you want. Tux: Oh don't even try that! He could stretch out in a hot bath, shut off his phone and vegetate. Grotto: I think J-Bo daydreams about this. Yes, no? Greg: Iíd really rather not contemplate that. Tux: I've contemplated worse. Two more intersections to go, and I'm home free. Grotto: Improperly written POV change! Traffic was unusually light for a Thursday evening. Tux: Now if that would have been night that would have rhymed. Kiki: Oh, I like smart men. Tux: Then bug House. Ordinarily, poor weather exacerbated the existing intercity congestion. Sirra: Someone's using big words to make themselves sound smart. But, tonight, the streets were fairly clear. Grotto: Ugh. This is the kinda chick who would go off on a tangent about the WEATHER when you want to start a conversation. SAY SOMETHING INTERESTING AND RELEVANT. Kiki: I can grab Tux's penis and you can't; is that interesting? Grotto: (Grits teeth) I hate you. Tux (darkly): Don't you even dare. Kiki: Oh you know I love it when you talk like that. Grotto: GrrÖ House pulled up all the way up onto the sidewalk in front of his condominium, Sirra: I've seen worse things done. parking his bike directly parallel to the brick facade. He didnít live in a stereo typically Grotto: Thatís all one word, flouncer. Tux: I was about to point that out too. rough part of town. Kiki: Oh, I do so love it rough. Why don't you ever do me roughly Tux? Tux: Because I'm too busy trying to get the hell away; that's why. Grotto: Good for you, baby. But, he didnít like taking the chance that some teenager, with nothing better to do, might decide to entertain themselves by rearranging his ride. Grotto: Iíll rearrange your FACE! House slid his helmet off. Despite the fact that the ride home was less than twenty minutes, his dark, sweaty curls were still sticking to his head. Sirra: That could be cured by removing his scalp. He was immediately greeted by a bright beacon of light shining directly in his line of vision, Kiki: A will o' the wisp? Tux: I doubt many of them hang out in the inner city. and he lifted a gloved hand up to block it. Sirra: The light, or his vision? It was difficult to make out the figure who was approaching him, Greg: Making OUT with the figure, that was a different story. James: WHY DONíT YOU LOVE ME. Kiki: I'll say it's not a balor. Sirra: He certainly wouldn't need a flashlight. flashlight in hand. House knew only certain people bothered to carry such powerful flashlights. Tux: Voyeurs not being one of them. Since he wasnít in the forest, camping, Kiki: Having sex in a zipped up sleeping bag is fun. Tux: I wouldn't know. Kiki: Oh, you must let me show you sometime. Tux: No. or in a cavern, spelunking, he assumed that they were employed in some sort of law enforcement. Sirra: I could still take them. Tux: Yeah well youíve got six arms, are nine feet tall and weigh about two tons as well. Sirra: Are you calling me fat? Tux (worriedly): Never. When the gap closed between them, House made out a familiar smirk on the face of a man who heíd been hoping never to see again. Kiki: I've never met a man I didn't want to see again. Grotto: (Under breath) Whore. [*Pronounced ďhoorĒ, the English pronunciation] Kiki: Never a whore dear; I don't take money. Grotto: Thatís a prostitute, genius. Greg: I sense hositilityÖ "Are you stalking me? Sirra: I'd be willing to bet yes. Just so you know, if you want me to check out your seeping gonorrhea, Tux (as House): You'll have to pay extra. Kiki: I'd do it for free. Tux: That's because you can't catch STDs. James: Iím learning more than Iíve ever wanted to know about mythical creatures I didnít think existed. youíll have to go to the clinic like everyone else. Iím off the clock." Sirra: Time always marches on, no one is ever truly off the clock. Tux: Angst much? Sirra: You want me to slap you? Tux: Um, sorry. The manís smile didnít fade in the least. But, he turned off the flashlight and tucked it into a holster that was connected to his waist. Sirra: Interesting; I never understood why petty little humans would have something like that surgically attached to them. Kiki: That reminds me of that one necromancer that had a mohrg's tongue grafted in place of his own. In fact I'm getting wet just thinking about it. Tux: I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that. And get off of me already. I donít want you seeping onto me! Kiki: Shush you. Grotto: Can I seep onto you, Tux? Tux: If it gets Kiki off my lap; you can do whatever you want. Kiki: That's not likely Tux. Grotto: GRAH! (Tries really really REALLY hard not to pounce) House squinted, trying to make out what else was hanging there, Tux: His penis. Greg: As much as thatís a horrible mental image, I canít help but laugh at that. but it was too hard to see under the gaudy, orange glow of the street lights. Kiki: It is a pity that you humans have such a hard time seeing in dim light. Greg: Ö(Turns to Grotesque) Grots, your friends are freaking me out. Grotto: Sorry, Gurge. Iíll handle themÖ (Glares daggers at Kiki) "If youíd actually taken the time to read my file, then you would have known that Iím a cop." Sirra: I hate cops; in fact I hate anything lawful good. Tux: And yet you hang around me? Sirra: Heh, good one. Tux: What's that supposed to mean? Kiki: Oh; you'll see love; you'll see. Grotto: (Narrows eyes suspiciously at Kiki) Houseís irritation at being followed home was slowly evolving into nervousness, Tux: I didnít think that emotions could evolve. Sirra: Neither can you humans. Grotto: Irritation evolved into Nervousness! Nervousness is trying to learn ďTrollĒ. But Nervousness can only learn four moves. Delete another move to make room for Troll? Options are Flounce, Self-Advertise, Losercase and Abuse Child. James: Somehow, I donít think weíre talking emotions anymore. Greg: Took you long enough. but he didnít want this guy to know it. The fact that it was chilly out and he was already in pain, made Houseís usual air of nonchalance, a little more difficult to pull off. Kiki: Men never last long against me either. Tux: Yeah, except me. Kiki: You have been an unusually tough nut to crack, for a straight man. Grotto: Ha! You just donít know what buttons to push, puta. Kiki: I bet I can press more buttons than you even knew existed. "Am I supposed to be impressed? Tux: Probably. Are officers of the law more entitled to waste doctorís time than ordinary citizens?" Kiki: I prefer that officers waste their time with me, multiple times, and multiple ways. Tux: Will you just stop already? Kiki: Only way Iíll stop is if your tongue is in my mouth. Tux: Not happening. Grotto: NO BLOODY WAY IN HELL. All: Ö Grotto: Er. Yes. (Hides in shadowy corner) The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you realize, that in this state, what you did to me qualifies as assault?" Tux: Hell simply touching him is assault. House snorted. "What about tripping a crippled man? Sirra: That's rather funny. Greg: Yeah, and when YOU get a leg infar- ÖOh, nevermind. Where does that rank in the spectrum of criminal codes? Or, is that just something Iím supposed to overlook, because of your shiny badge and great big flashlight?" Kiki: I like men with big flashlights, if you know what I mean. Tux: Canít someone just destroy my entire frontal lobe? Is that too much to ask for? Sirra: Quit whining. James: (Makes whipping noises) Greg: Youíre one to mock. James: ÖYou suck. "The only thing crippled about you, is your attitude." Tux: That was lamer than House. Sirra: And you still think youíre lawful good? Tux: Bite me. Oh, donít really do that. Kiki (biting Tuxís neck): Too late! Tux: I wasnít even talking to you! Grotto: (Grits teeth, tries not to explode) House couldnít help scoffing at such a pathetically corny stab. Tux: Yeah, you just wait until someone stabs you in the back with a fucking corn cob; won't be laughing then. "Wow, your cleverness never fails to astound. Sirra: I've yet to be astounded with any of this. Let me go get a pen and paper so I can take this stuff down." Kiki: Surely you can think of better uses for a pen. He continued to grin, brushing his jacket aside to reveal a handgun attached to a holster under his arm. Sirra: Oh, a gun; those are rather pathetic instruments, I prefer my swords. "Arenít you going to ask me inside?" Tux (as House): Only if you promise to rape me brutally. Kiki: Thatís the best kind of rape. Tux: You know; youíre not quite right in the head are you? Kiki (sniffling): Iím just fine in the head, meanie! Sirra: Wow, you just made a succubus cry; they canít even do that in hell. Grotto: Woo! Go Tux! House was frozen. His eyes had caught sight of the gun and heíd immediately glanced away from it. Tux: Meh, could be worse; he could try beating you to death with that horse dildo nicknamed Thor from zetacreations. Kiki: I like that particular pleasuring instrument, just so you know. Tux: Stop talking. Grotto: (Attempts not to rip out Kikiís vocal chords and strangle her with them) His leg was beginning to tremble, from standing in the same place for so long. Sirra: I never got what was so great about bipedal locomotion; I get around just fine. Tux: Yeah, youíre also twenty feet long. I mean I wouldnít want to have to hold a door for you. He turned his back to the man, taking off his gloves and stuffing them inside the helmet. Kiki: I guess thatís one place to put them, though a little less adventurous. Tux: I donít even want to think about what you just implied. "I wasnít planning on it." Kiki: Oh, but it could be so much fun; not as much fun as I could have with Tux if heíd just loosen up a little. Tux: Iíll loosen up when Iím dead. Kiki: I can wait. When House turned back around, he was met with a serious stare. Sirra: Meh, I can never take humans seriously. "I think youíll want to reconsider. It would be a shame for a seasoned professional, such as yourself, to lose his medical license...his freedom, over something so petty." Kiki: Oh, I do so love being bound; you should try that some time with me Tux; I bet youíd have fun. Tux: What part of get off of me donít you understand? There was a moment of hesitation, where House was trying to figure out what to do. Sirra: Crush his skull with the nearest heavy object. Tux: Or show him guro hentai. Kiki (licking the side of Tuxís neck): I knew you had an adventurous streak in you somewhere. Tux (shivering): Donít do that again! Grotto: (Chokes, nearly dies) Greg: This would be more amusing if it wasnít so gross. James: Wow, you guys have managed to scare him. That takes talent. Grotto: Sorry, Gurge. Greg: Youíre forgiven. Heíd honestly never found himself in such a situation before. Kiki: I could put you in situations youíve never known before too if youíd just let me Tux. Tux (pushing Kiki off his lap): Off you go. I tried being nice, the answer is no. Grotto: YES! Fucking OWNED, bitch! (Waves fingers and sticks out tongue in mockery) MY Tux, not yours! Greg: ÖWow. James: (Incredulous) That wasnít creepy at all. Grotto: (Flips the bird) Greg: (Grins) Tux: The lapís open now Grotto, I think thatís the only way to keep her off of me. Kiki: Oh, you big meanie. This man was a cop, and an armed one at that. Sirra: I could still take him. Tux: I think heíd be too busy pissing himself for seeing you to do much of anything about it. Sirra: Are you saying Iím ugly? Tux: NO! If House fought him, resisted him, Kiki (sitting back down): Hmm, resisting can be fun. If done right; donít you think so Jamesie-poo? Tux: At least sheís not hitting on me. Kiki (smirking): Oh, Iíll get back to you as soon as your little girl is out of sight, love. he could be arrested. But, if he let him in, Sirra: Thereís always the possibility of killing and eating him. allowed him to invade the safety and sanctity of his home, heíd be rendering himself vulnerable to...an unlimited list of possibilities Kiki: Would gang rape be one of them? Iím sure I could get a couple of incubi together for that after all. that he wasnít even prepared or willing to consider. Tux: Such as: What happens if my cellmate is goatse? House took a deep breath and slid his cane out of the holster on the side of his bike. For a second, he entertained the thought of bashing the copís head in with it. Kiki: Oh, but Iím sure you could use it in a much more sexual way; Iím sure youíd both enjoy that. But, he realized that probably wouldnít be in his favor. Sirra: Sounds like heís a pansy to me. He wasnít as quick on his feet as he once was, and this man was more than likely in better physical shape. Tux: I bet if you filled that cane with lead it wouldnít make a difference. Kiki: Mercury would be nice too; then you can get a little extra oomph in those thrusts. House made his way to the front door, closely shadowed by his unwanted visitor. He wedged the helmet under his arm so he could force the key into the lock. Kiki: I wish Tux would force his key into my lock. Tux: Leave me be she-devil! Kiki: No. The door swung open and House gestured, reluctantly, to the interior of his home. Sirra: I donít know why you canít just stab him in the back. "I donít suppose youíll be wanting a beer." Kiki: I never drink; beer anyway. Tux: I donít want to know what you do drink. Kiki: Semen; among other things. "Donít be ridiculous. I'm on duty." The cop closed the door behind them and leaned against the frame. "Right...well, if you donít mind, Iím going to have one." House tossed the helmet down behind the couch and limped, tiredly, into the kitchen. He desperately wanted to pop a few vicodin, but there was no way he could do that, now, with this guy watching. If anything, it would only give him more fuel, more evidence for his case...whatever his case was, exactly. Beer it is. The cop had already made himself comfortable on the couch, by the time House had returned from the kitchen. Seeing as the scales had tipped, slightly, House thought it was worth it to attempt the polite approach. He sank into the chair on the other side of the coffee table, trying to appear as casual as possible. Better late than never. "So...what can I do for you, exactly?" The cop steepled his fingers, still grinning. House wanted to wipe that grin off his face. He imagined himself rubbing a handful of dirt in it, his mouth curling up at the thought. Instead of answering, the cop replied with another question. "What do you think?" House tilted his head. This guy was playing some sort of mind game with him. "You want an apology? Iíd be happy to give you one, so long as it doesnít have to be sincere." The copís gaze was unwavering. "Iím not looking for sincerity. Iím looking for complete and total humiliation." House sipped his beer, suddenly not feeling very optimistic about the tone in the copís voice. "You mean like wearing white after labor day kind of humiliation, or like Janet Jacksonís halftime wardrobe malfunction humiliation?" The cop chuckled, giving House a momentary false sense of ease. "No. I talking about reciprocation...an eye for an eye." "You want to examine my penis? Because, Iím pretty sure mine isnít infected." Houseís smile dissipated when he saw the look of seriousness on the copís face. "Do you think thatís what I want?" House felt the hair on his arms raising, on the surface of a chill. He swallowed hard, trying to force a smile. He suddenly realized that this guy wasnít exactly Dudley Do-right. Sure, heíd offended the guy and sure, leaving him with a thermometer in his rectum probably wasnít the nicest thing he could have done. But, this guy wasnít here for an apology. He was here for revenge. House began to wonder just how much of a chance an out-of-shape, middle-aged, cripple might actually have against an armed police officer. His mind reeled, considering the possibilities. Maybe he could scream for help. Maybe he could get to the phone and dial 911. He knew that, even if he were to hang up, once heíd dialed the number, they would send someone around anyway. He really didnít know what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it was going to be forced. This guy could make him do whatever he wanted. But, he couldnít make him be sorry. "Do I get to trip you first?" The cop didnít laugh, and thatís when House really began to feel nervous. His right leg was shaking, just a little. It was so slight that it was barely noticeable. But, he could feel it. His grip must have loosened on the bottle of beer he was holding, because he felt it slide through his fingers. He clamped on it, just in time, before it left his grasp. The cop nodded to the bottle. "Iíll let you finish your drink first, of course. I wouldnít want you to get thirsty." House wanted to say something. But, for the first time, his mouth felt numb and clumsy. Whatever it was that was about to happen, it wasnít going to be good, and there wasnít a damn thing he could do about it. He knew that beads of sweat were now making their appearance on his face. After a minute, he shook his head. "You...canít really do this." The cop smiled, seeming to enjoy Houseís denial. "Canít I? You think doctors are the only ones who should be able to abuse their authority?" "I didnít..." His voice stopped, abruptly. House did abuse his authority, often, and he knew that already. It stood to reason that he would eventually cross the wrong person. It was simple a matter of odds. House tilted the bottle back, emptying itís contents down his throat. He almost choked on it before dragging his arm across his face to wipe away the residue from his mouth. Before he even had a chance to set the bottle down, the cop was right in front of him. Heíd pulled out a pair of handcuffs, which he dangled from two fingers. House entertained the notion of saying something about that being kinky, but the idea died on his lips. He whispered, softly. "Jesus..." "Stand up." The way the cop gave the order, it reminded House of his Father. Heíd grown up on Marine bases, all around the world. Heíd grown accustomed to hearing such a tone in his Dadís voice. Everything was an order, never a suggestion. It was his way or the highway. Needless to say, House had never seen the highway. House slowly got to his feet, instinctively reaching for his cane when he felt his right leg protesting. The cop shook his head. "Uh...no. No cane." "Okay..." The prompt response slipped out before he even had time to think. House wondered how many people this man had manipulated, and how many had succeeded in provoking him. The cop gestured to the kitchen. House really wasnít sure what he could possibly want in there, unless it was the knives. But, it made no sense that the cop would need knives, considering the fact that he already had a gun. When they were both standing in front of the large table in the center of the room, the cop slapped a metal cuff around one of Houseís wrists. It happened so fast that House barely had time to react. The cop tugged on him, just enough to pull him against the leg of the table, where he attached the other end of the cuff. Then, the cop pulled out a second pair of cuffs and repeated the procedure on Houseís other arm. "This is just so you donít run." House could barely choke out his response, his mouth rapidly drying with panic. "I canít exactly run...these days." House couldnít figure out what had happened, how he had gone from treating this guy in the clinic, to being followed home, to being...a victim. A victim of what, House really didnít know. But, he knew that it was the only appropriate word to describe what he was feeling now. His control had been taken away from him, and, somehow, he had actually allowed it to happen. This guy and his Dad were cut from the same cloth. House wondered if it was his upbringing, his constant endurance of abuse at the hands of his Father, that had made him give in so easily. The cop still wore an unusually glib expression, considering heíd just basically abducted and restrained a total stranger. He rifled through the drawers next to the stove, until he came up with a roll of duct tape. Oh God. He pulled out a sufficient amount and tore it with his teeth. In one motion, he leaned over and stretched it across the length of Houseís mouth, painfully sealing his lips together. Houseís first thought was how much it was going to hurt when he ripped it off later. Shaving wasnít exactly high on his list of priorities, so plenty of hair would be uprooted as a result. The cop took off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. House could now see that, in addition to the gun, he also had a night stick. The cop slid the night stick out, slowly, savoring the look of trepidation on Houseís face. Before House could issue some sort of non-vocal protest, he felt the object being bashed against the back of his head. ... House went over, in his mind, all the possible outcomes that could result from a sharp and well placed blow to the skull. He steeled himself, relieved not to feel any blood trickling down from the location of impact. Another blow hit him in the leg. Of course it was the right one. He cried out, involuntarily. But, the sound was muffled by the tape. It hurt so badly that House could hardly believe he was still maintaining consciousness. The cop was still as calm as ever. "Iím sorry. What that your bad leg?" House could feel his mouth grimacing in pain, even under the tape. He wondered how much worse it was going to get, and what else the cop had in mind. If it was just being beaten up, he could handle that. He was ready and willing to take a few punches if it would get rid of this guy. The cop pounded on him a bit more. House felt pain seeping to the surface, in all parts of his body. Normally such a thing would have had a positive affect on the chronic pain he usually suffered. But, seeing as the cop had chosen to inflict injury on the very source of his handicap, House was pretty sure that relief was a long way off. "You know what I hate about guys like you?" I canít imagine. Am I supposed to actually answer? If you wanted to chat you shouldnít have taped my mouth shut. "You just donít know when to quit. You go around, suffering from the misconception that youíre better than everyone else, just because you went to medical school and you have a license to practice medicine. I would still be like this, you moron, even if I was a garbage collector. House fought the urge to roll his eyes. He couldnít believe this guy would actually make this about his job. It clearly had nothing to do with that at all. The cop didnít take too kindly to being mocked, even if it was being done silently, so he issued a few more blows to Houseís thigh. House began to panic. His breathing had sped way up, primarily because of the pain. But, he wasnít sure if he could take this abuse for too much longer. Whatever youíre going to do, please letís get it over with. House could feel his legs trembling, turning to jelly underneath him. He wanted, desperately, to stay standing, but his body wouldnít obey. The cop seemed to notice that House was getting ready to fall, because he grabbed him from behind and leaned his torso against the surface of the table. This caused Houseís cuffed arms to be stretched out to their maximum length, pain shooting through his wrists, where the metal was cutting into his skin. "Thatís better." Despite the fact that he was in pain, House was relieved to be leaning against something. It took a lot of the strain off of his legs. He realized, given the way in which he was prone, that something very bad was going to be happening soon. Donít scream. Donít cry. Just let him do whatever it is and then heíll be gone. House was practically flashing back to his childhood, remembering his Fatherís cruel and calculated punishments. Heíd talked himself through them, just like he was doing now. It would be over soon, and then heíd be fine...until next time, anyway. Then, it would start all over again. The cop had taken a step back after pushing House over the table. But, he moved up close again, and House could distinctly feel fingers reaching around to undo his belt. It was pulled away from him and he heard the clink of the buckle when it was laid down, somewhere. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh God. House was willing away the urge to vomit, knowing that by doing so, while tape was over his mouth, he could easily choke to death, right there, on the spot. He balled his fists, tightly, as though, through sheer will, he could gain some sort of control over the situation. With a simple tug, Houseís jeans were resting around his ankles. The cool air hitting his legs was a reminder of just how vulnerable the one simple act had made him. He was almost grateful that he couldnít see what was happening. He didnít think he could take whatever look was, inevitably, displayed on the copís face. His gray boxer briefs soon accompanied the jeans, and because he was only wearing a thin t-shirt on top, he knew his ass was now exposed. For a second he wondered if the cop was planning to shove a rectal thermometer up there. A thermometer wouldnít be so bad, But somehow House didnít think he was going to be that lucky. House didnít hear anything, and he couldnít see what was going on behind him. So, he hissed, internally, when he felt the lash of his own belt being laid across his skin. So this is it? I can take this. I did it for years. House gritted his teeth, under the guise of the duct tape. It was humiliating, the position he was in. But, he knew it wasnít the worst thing that the cop could be doing to him. The cop issued blow after blow, not just on Houseís ass but all over the backs of his legs, as well. House knew there would be welts there, and he distracted himself by counting the lashes and by wondering how long they would take to heal. When the cop seemed satisfied with his work, he tossed the belt onto the floor. House was sweating, horribly, and his mouth was so dry that he was afraid he might choke. One of the places on his head, where heíd been struck, was beginning to throb, and he was fairly certain that he had a concussion. Stay conscious. Donít close your eyes. But, his lids were already getting heavy. He struggled to keep them open. He couldnít pass out, because God only knew what the cop was planning to do to him if he did. He didnít want to wake up in a casket that had already been buried, or in the trunk of a car that was at the bottom of a lake. He knew such things really did happen to people and not just in James Bond movies. The cop had apparently become hot, because heíd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and poured himself a glass of water. House wondered why he didn't help himself to a beer. There was almost a full twelve pack in the fridge. Interesting...Heíll kidnap and assault an innocent man, but he wonít drink while on duty. Talk about a double standard. My Dad would love this guy. The cop leaned against the counter by the stove, smirking at House. Houseís head was on itís side, facing the cop. As shameful as it seemed, he knew his eyes were begging this man to stop, not to do whatever the hell it was that he was planning, that heíd had enough. But, the cop just laughed. He sat the empty glass in the sink and unzipped his navy blue slacks, peeling his underwear out of the way to reveal a partial erection. Houseís eyes fell closed and the urge to vomit returned. He was about to be raped. Not just beaten up or yelled at or even killed, but actually raped and violated. Sure, House knew that heíd violated this guy by sticking a thermometer in his rectum. But, as a physician, he was well within his rights to do that. Doctors used rectal thermometers all the time. His reasoning had been valid, even if it had been immature and ill inspired. The cop was still smiling, especially now that he could see Houseís reaction to what was about to happen. "Donít worry, Iíll use protection. I wouldnít want you to catch whatever it was that you didnít seem to think was worthy of your medical attention." The cop pulled out a packaged condom and made a point of waving it around so House could see it. He tossed the wrapper over his shoulder and rolled the rubber onto himself, giving his shaft a few strokes for good measure. The cop opened up some drawers and cupboards. "I donít suppose you have something slippery in here somewhere..?" After checking three more places, the cop located a can of cooking spray. He seemed deeply amused. "This will do. Golly, I sure hope it doesnít cause any kind of irritation." Despite the severity of the situation, House filed away the mental image of a man coating his penis with cooking spray, for later use. It was nothing, if not original. The cop placed the can back where heíd found it and approached House from behind. "Open up and say Ďahhí." Itís going to hurt. Itís going to hurt. Itís going to hurt. Its... House practically bashed his own forehead against the table, when the shock from the initial penetration hit him. He forced his teeth together, willing away another wave of nausea. For the next few minutes, he couldnít see or hear anything but the pain. He felt like someone had reached right into him and ripped his heart right out. His eyes teared and ran, and he knew he was producing some sort of pathetic sound. Please, please stop. Please be done. Please stop. Please... House wasnít sure how long it went on for. Time seemed to be irrelevant and his perceptions were being altered by the intensity of the experience. He was screaming, inside his mind, now thinking that death would have been a favorable alternative. The cop finally finished, rolled off the condom and tossed it into the trash under the sink. House was glad, so glad that he didnít have to see the look on the manís face when heíd come...assuming that he had actually done so. The cop did up his pants, bending over slightly so he could be eye level with House. His tone was still so condescending and mocking, that it only added further insult to the injury heíd just inflicted. "Are you going to behave now?" House didnít even know that tears were flowing out of his eyes. It seemed a reasonable explanation for why his vision was so blurry, but his brain wasnít quite working, at the moment. Huh? "Mmm..." House moaned, producing an agonizing sound. The cop reached over and ripped the tape off of his mouth, pulling hair out of Houseís face, by itís roots. House gasped, at the pain. But, otherwise, he was still silent. The cop folded his arms, smugly. "Say something." Youíre a sick, sick bastard. I hope you burn in hell. I want my Mom... But, House couldnít say anything. All he could do was cry. The cop was still smiling, obviously finding Houseís emotional state to be an added bonus of whatever else he thought heíd accomplished. House tugged, slightly, at the cuffs, hoping the cop would have the decency to unlock them. For a moment, the cop seemed to feel sorry for House, at least thatís what his expression conveyed. He fished through his pockets, dramatically, searching for his keys. "Oh here they are. I thought they were lost." The cop feigned surprise, holding the keys up and shaking them in front of Houseís face. With an added chuckle, he unlocked the cuffs, first the portion attached to the table, and then the one closed around Houseís wrists. Red indentations had been left where the metal had eaten through Houseís skin. House lay there, thinking, before struggling to stand. The cop had left the kitchen and gone to the livingroom. He returned with Houseís cane in hand, which he passed to him with a tone of false generosity. "Here you go. I wouldnít want you to have any trouble getting around." House took the cane from him, steadying himself with it. He finally looked down at his pants, which were still resting around his ankles. Blood had dripped down his legs and pooled itself on the crumpled material. He leaned the cane against the table and bent down, painfully, to pull his pants back up. Despite the shame he was feeling, he realized that he could worry about the mess later. He had more pressing matters to attend to. The copís remark sparked a seed of hatred, that had been dormant in House, ever since he left the home where his Father had also lived. It was this glowing, hot ball of despair, an amoeba made up of all the suffering and abuse heíd endured, tightly wrapped within fantasies of bitter and violent revenge. House patiently waited for that millisecond, that precious sliver of time when the cop had obviously taken for granted that his opponent was not truly inferior. The blow he delivered to the copís head was so precise and had such strength, that House was actually surprised that it didnít disconnect from his body and go flying across the room. The cop was undoubtedly shocked by such a move. Heíd never seen it coming. So, he was too distracted to see the second, third, and fourth blows coming, as well. Blood leaked out of the copís head, and onto the floor where he was sprawled. He managed to get up and lunged at House. This time, House held nothing back, and they both went down, wrestling and clawing at each other with primitive grunts. The cop was on the bottom, out of breath. Seizing the opportunity, House snatched the gun from the holster that encircled the cop's torso. He pulled back, slightly, aiming the pistol at the copís head. Slowly, House got into a crouching position, using his free hand to pull himself up to stand. The cop smiled, trying to hide his fear at having his own weapon taken from him. His laugh was hardly convincing. "Do you have any idea how long youíd go to prison for shooting a cop?" House didnít move from his position, the gun still aimed at the copís face. "Is it longer than the sentence for kidnaping, assaulting and raping another man?" The cop allowed himself to appear slightly nervous. "No oneís going to believe you." House tried a smile, deliberately clicking off the safety. That's right Motherfucker. I know how to use this thing. "Iíll just say it was self defense." The cop swallowed, bringing himself up into a sitting position and offering an outstretched hand. "Why donít you give me the gun..?" Houseís stare was filled with blind rage. "Fuck you." The cop smiled at Houseís choice in words, not realizing what a mistake he was about to make. "I already fucked you." House sucked in his breath and lowered the gun so it was aimed at the copís right leg. In the time span of one second, heíd discharged the weapon. The sound was deafening, in such an enclosed space. Remind me to thank my Dad for all those lessons. He was right. They did come in handy. The cop screamed, cradling the leg, which was now, rapidly, oozing blood all over the hard, wooden floor. "Jesus Christ!" House smiled, his breath hitching and his voice shaky. He sounded a lot more confident that he really was, considering that heíd just shot someone. "Iíll guess youíll be working a desk job from now on." The cop rocked back and forth, trying to sooth the overwhelming pain. "You...bastard...Fucker...Jesus..." House shook his head, regaining his confidence, pushing away the memory of what had happened, just moments before, "Being shot with you own gun. That canít look good on paper. Iíd call you an ambulance, but thereís this pesky little law about doctors having an obligation to report all GSW related injuries to the authorities." The cop glared at him, wondering if it was possible that he might actually bleed to death. "Fucker!" "Now...thatís not a very nice thing for a profusely bleeding man to say to the only medical professional within a one mile radius." They had a minor staring contest while the cop was, obviously, trying to weigh his options. He let out a long, ragged breath. "You...can...fix this?" House opened the bottom of the pistol, emptying the remaining bullets into his hand. He shoved the gun back into his waist band and left the bullets sitting on the couch. "I might be able to scrounge some things up. I mean, Iím no MacGuyver, but..." House stood, just watching the cop and not moving. The cop was getting nervous, seeing all that blood. He knew that time was of the essence. "So, letís do it, already! Iím fucking bleeding to death here." House tilted his head, thoughtfully. "Oh, donít be silly. Iím sure youíd clot eventually, assuming youíre not an alcoholic or anything like that. No...because that would make you an addict and youíre obviously immune to such primitive vices." The cop stared back at him, not understanding. House knew he was probably becoming light headed, so it was best to get the details out of the way, before he lost consciousness. "First, I have some demands." The pain in the copís leg was only getting worse. He moaned and rolled his eyes. "Fine! Whatever!" "First, once weíre through here, I donít ever want to see you again. I donít even want to suspect that youíre in, on, at or near the hospital where I work or the building in which I live. Second, you will never, ever, as long as you live, reveal to anyone what happened here tonight. If I even suspect that you have told so much as your pet goldfish or your priest, I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands." The cop stared back at him, still panting. "Thatís it?" House sighed, folding his arms, figuring that heíd might as well take advantage of the situation. "I also have some speeding tickets." The cop appeared incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me?" House glared at him, stupidly. "Do you think I'm kidding?" The cop hadn't let go of his leg. "Fine...fine...whatever..." "Great." House got down on the floor next to the cop, taking his hand and placing it between his legs. Heíd assumed that cops were trained in basic first aid. But, being shot does often render one unable to think clearly. "Put pressure here while I get what I need." The cop was surprisingly obedient, pressing his fingers into the spot that House had indicated. House grabbed his cane off of the floor went into the bathroom. The cop could hear him rifling around, gathering things. When he returned, he dumped the stuff on the floor next to the cop. House took out a pair of scissors and proceeded to cut off the leg of his pants. House produced a vial and a syringe, causing the cop to shrink away from him. "What the hell is that?" House was amused by his lack of trust. He held the vial between two fingers. "It's Lidocaine, assuming you don't want to feel me pushing the needle and threat into your skin. Really, it's up to you. Technically, it's a controlled substance, so you probably wouldn't..." "Just do it!" House smiled. The cop fell backward, letting House inject the medication. Slowly the pain ebbed and he began to feel dizzy. "Hey, no throwing up, now. It's bad enough that you bled all over my floor. I should send you a bill." The cop moaned. House sterilized the area, mopping up the excess blood with gauze. The bullet had gone in one part of the thigh and out the other, missing the bone completely. Do I have good aim, or what? If only Dad could see me now. The entry wound required a mere four stitches to close and the exit one, only three. House wrapped the thigh, tightly, in fresh gauze. "I wouldn't lift anything heavy or try climbing any stairs for a few weeks." The cop sat up again, looking disoriented. House limped into the kitchen and retrieved the man's coat. He tossed it into the cop's lap. "Here's your jacket. I wouldn't want you to get cold." House actually extended a hand to the man, helping him get to his feet. The cop struggled, but found that he could do it, given the injection he'd received. House handed the empty pistol back to the cop. The cop took it, but eyed the pile of bullets that were nestled on House's couch. "Uh uh. Those are mine. That's my ransom, just in case you aren't a man of your word." House held up one of the bullets. "See, here's the serial number. I'm assuming that this ammunition was licensed to your weapon, right detective?" The cop shook his head, trying to remember what his point had been, following this guy home in the first place. House watched him make his way out the door and down the street to where his unmarked car was parked. After he was certain the man had driven away, he closed the door and locked the deadbolt. House sighed, surveying the mess that had been left. He would have to clean it up later. Right now, he was going to get his pills, pour himself a glass of overpriced Scotch, and take a hot bath. THE END