House-fic: Altruism (A House/Saw crossover) 5/6
Title: Altruism (A House/Saw crossover)
Author: Silver
Website: http://silver.glasscases.net
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: FRAO (adult only) for intense angst and suspense
Spoilers: none. I'm just borrowing the concept of Saw, no plot details.
Warnings: This is a dark story. It features some grisly violence in later parts which is not for the faint of heart. I'll warn specifically when it comes up.
Disclaimer: The characters of House were created by David Shore. The concept of Saw came from the twisted minds of James Wan and Leigh Whannell. No profits are being made from this story. Read Part 1 for a more detailed disclaimer.
Summary: In the hands of the Jigsaw Killer, House finds himself faced with the biggest challenge of his life: finding out what's killing Wilson before it's too late. READ THE WARNINGS.
Crossposted to house_wilson ( here) and house_slash ( here).
Previous parts: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
*******************************
Warning: This chapter features explicit violence.
Part 5
Wilson simply stared at him for a while, processing what he had just been told. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Okay... and what can we do about that?"
House gave another bitter laugh. "Oh, that's the real kicker. Absolutely nothing. Not with any of the tools I've been given. I can discontinue administration of the offending drug, but that should be a given. Other than that... there's just waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Wilson asked quietly.
House sighed deeply. "For your heart to give out."
"Oh..." Wilson swayed on his feet for a second. "That's... a rather bleak outlook on the future."
The only reply House could muster up was a faint nod. He didn't know what else to say.
"You know, somehow I'd appreciate a bit more involvement from you," Wilson said irritably.
Running his hand through his hair, House replied, "What do you want me to do? I'm stuck here, just like you. The mystery is solved. There's nothing else I can do."
"But I'm still dying!" Wilson exclaimed. "There may be no more mystery to it, but it's still pretty damn scary, I'm telling you." He walked around the cell for a couple of steps, then he returned to the grid, his eyes still glittering with accusal. "Maybe it's because of my infidelity that you no longer feel the need to do something. I'm tainted goods."
For a moment, House was actually speechless. "What the fuck?" He didn't give Wilson the chance to elaborate his point, but continued right away. "You think I'm going to let you die on purpose because my wounded heart can't take the humiliation of you being a philandering bastard? Do you really think that low of me?"
Wilson faltered. "No, of course not..."
"Well, thanks a lot for that mark of confidence!" Once more, House was cursing his bum leg, because he really felt the need to pace around and rage right now. "Guess I am inattentive and uncaring. After all, this sadist here seems to know you better than I do! He was probably having a grand time imagining the look on my face when I found out about all this. How was it? Did I look distraught enough to make it worth his while?"
House laughed without humor. "But he knows me quite well too. I really gotta hand it to him, he knows how to push all my buttons. And most of all, he knows that despite all of this I'm not going to abandon you, he made sure of that with the chain, but by God it's not just the one on this wall that's keeping me, and the thought that there's nothing more I can do is fucking killing me!"
After this outburst, he suddenly felt all empty inside. He cast a glance at Wilson who was watching him with somber eyes.
"There's one more thing you can do, though," Wilson said softly.
House didn't ask what, just jerked his head as a silent invitation.
Slowly, Wilson sank down on the floor. Pushing his arms through the gap, he whispered, "You've solved the case. It's time to hold my hand now."
For a moment, House had to press his teeth together to keep his eyes from tearing up. Then he nodded and let himself down on the floor very carefully. He moved as close to Wilson as the chain would allow, then went down further on his stomach to take the other man's hand gently, entwining their fingers.
They stayed like that for a while with Wilson's thumb rubbing across the back of his hand. It made his heart ache.
"Your fingers are trembling too," Wilson pointed out.
"I know, it's the lack of Vicodin." They fell silent again.
"How are you feeling?" House asked after a while.
"Physically, you mean?"
"No..." He pressed Wilson's hand. "Emotionally."
Wilson smiled weakly. "Stupid, most of all."
"Why stupid? I mean, I know that you are, but why are you feeling that way?"
Wilson laughed softly. Then he sobered again. "Because I made all the wrong choices, didn't I? From starting that stupid affair to lying to you about the fever. I guess I'm getting exactly what I deserve."
"Nobody deserves this, Jimmy," House choked out.
Wilson laughed softly. "You're just nice to me because I'm dying."
House wanted to protest, wanted to insist that it wasn't true, but somehow the lie didn't want to leave his mouth.
"Hey, be fair. You wouldn't lie to me now, would you?" Wilson said teasingly, his voice losing strength. "What would you have done if you had found out about this under normal circumstances?"
Thinking about it for a moment, House then replied honestly, "I would have walked out on you."
Wilson nodded calmly. "And this is exactly why I was so afraid of you finding out. The thought of you no longer wanting me..." He trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment.
When he didn't open them again, House felt panic surge up and he squeezed Wilson's hand tightly. "Hey Wilson! Wake up! You can't be a slacker now!"
To his endless relief, Wilson opened his eyes again, albeit very slowly. "What? Oh..." He dragged his hand through his hair. "I'm not feeling so good..." he mumbled.
"It's okay," House said softly, his heart thumping in his chest. "Just lie down, okay? Preserve your strength." He released Wilson's hand so that he could lower himself onto his back.
"So this is what it feels like..." Wilson said weakly once he had settled down. "Knowing you're about to die. I've always wondered what my patients felt like when their time was drawing near. What goes through their heads, what's important to them, what things there are left for them to say. For all that I've tried to be sympathetic, I have never really been able to relate. Now I am..."
House felt as if the pain inside of his chest was becoming unbearable. He dropped his head as the feelings began to overwhelm him. Before he could stop himself, a sob escaped from his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, fighting to keep his composure.
Gently, Wilson's hand brushed through his hair. "It's okay," he murmured. "I'm ready to go."
Ignoring the fact that Wilson would see the pain in his eyes, House looked up and said heatedly, "But I'm not ready yet, damn it!" He wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks impatiently, feeling the traitorous wetness on them. "I'm a bad boyfriend, no shocker there, but I refuse to be a bad doctor to you."
"It really is okay," Wilson whispered, offering House his hand once more to hold. "You've done your best."
House grabbed the offered hand and pressed a lingering kiss into the palm. "Then my best wasn't good enough..." he choked out, feeling the weight of this realization crush him.
"It was good enough," Wilson said firmly. He ran his hand across House's cheek. "It's not your fault..." His voice faded and his eyelids fluttered shut.
"Wilson!" House said, alarmed, pulling at the other man's arm.
"Why won't you let me sleep, House," Wilson complained weakly.
"Because I'm a selfish bastard, don't you know that? I'm gonna be bored without you," he replied, but the joke just wouldn't come out right. He stifled another sob.
"You were right," Wilson whispered. "When you die, it's suddenly so clear which things are important." He squeezed House's hand tightly. "I lo..."
"Don't," House interrupted Wilson sharply. "Tell me again when you're not dying." Then he said more softly, "You can give me the best blowjob of my life and tell me then, but not now."
Wilson laughed barely audibly. "How can someone as bitter as you be such an optimist?"
"One of us has to be."
Wilson smiled and closed his eyes. His grasp slackened in House's hand.
"Wilson?" he asked with dread, patting the other man's hand. "Wilson!" he said more forcefully, pinching the soft flesh between Wilson's thumb and forefinger. Again, no reaction. With shivering fingers, he searched for a pulse and felt as if all life was drained out of him the instant he realized that there was none.
"Oh God..." he whispered, pressing Wilson's lax hand into his face. The sense of grief was overwhelming. His hands got a hold of the trolley and he slammed it into the wall, the pain this motion caused in his leg only a fragment of what he felt inside. The room was agonizingly quiet now but for his own sobs echoing across the tiles. If only he could reach Wilson and the AED, then he might be able to perform CPR and keep Wilson alive. He screamed and pulled at his shackled leg, trying to somehow loosen the iron clasp, but every jerk just dug the unyielding band deeper into his flesh.
And then there was the hard clang of something falling onto the ground. He looked at it through the blur of pain and grief and realized that it was the saw. He scooted over to it. The decorated handle pressed into his skin as he clutched it. His eyes darted back and forth between the saw and the tortured flesh of his ankle. Then he looked at the still figure of Wilson and hesitated no more.
He grabbed the tourniquet, carelessly discarded earlier, and tied it around his leg, just below his knee. When the blade made a first contact with his skin, breaking it just at the surface, a surge of panic overcame him and he pulled back. He watched the small trickle of blood run down his ankle and thought he'd never felt such disgust at the sight of blood before. He looked at the jagged teeth of the blade and tried to imagine how they'd tear into his flesh, slashing sinews, splitting veins, snapping tendons, destroying tissue, and he felt a wave of sickness roll over him.
His time was limited, he knew that, and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish that thought. He cast Wilson another look. The sight of his best friend, lying there, motionless, was enough for him to be filled with grim resolve.
He reached for the drawer clumsily, not caring that he pulled it out all the way, pouring its content onto the floor. His hands closed around the scalpel with a steady grasp. Something sharp and straight was bound to be less painful than the ripping teeth of a saw. Without debating it a second longer, he plunged the tip of the scalpel into his flesh.
He hadn't been prepared for the intense, searing pain. Perhaps it was amplified by the lack of painkillers and the stress, but for a moment he felt like he couldn't stand it. He cursed inwardly, telling himself that he'd withstood much worse pain than that.
As if this had given him an idea, he let go of the scalpel, leaving it sticking out of his foot like a grotesque check mark, and reached for his cane. He hesitated for just a second, then he brought the handle of the cane down onto his right thigh, brutally connecting it with his tormented muscle. He howled in agony, feeling as if he was about to pass out from the hot, burning pain. But instead of stopping, he hit again and again until tears sprung to his eyes and the pain was radiating out into his entire body, dominating his every thought. This was good. This was the pain he was used to.
Taking a deep breath, he rolled up his pant leg. Then he took off his jacket and stuffed the sleeve between his teeth, partly to muffle his screams, partly to give himself something to dig his teeth into. And then he started cutting.
At first, the pain was still there, but it was mostly drowned out by the hot, relentless throbbing in his thigh. He tried to imagine that it was just a patient he was working on and the warm blood that was trickling over his skin was really someone else's. He tried not to stop, slicing through his flesh in quick and precise moves just as he had learnt to do in med school. Try to focus on the work, not the person. Then cutting into a living being is easy.
When he lost sensation in his foot, he wasn't sure whether it was from his body finally shutting down the pain receptors or because he had severed the right nerve cords, but he welcomed it either way. His vision began to blur, but he kept cutting, slicing, slitting until his fingers lost grip on the scalpel, slick from his own blood.
It fell onto the floor with a thud, the sound of the impact muffled by the pool of blood beneath him. House looked at it for a second, his mind no longer comprehending what he had done. Then he reached for the saw.
His stomach made another churning leap when the teeth of the saw connected with his bone, the vibration crawling all the way up to his core. Gritting his teeth into the fabric of his jacket, he closed his eyes and started sawing.
He didn't know how long it took until the crunching sounds finally stopped and his hand slipped, the saw sliding past his flesh and onto the floor. He fell forward, his entire body out of balance all of a sudden, and he thought he heard the sickening sound of dead meat hitting the floor, slippery, wet and disgusting.
He didn't look, didn't want to see it. He blindly reached for the tourniquet still wrapped around his calf and pulled it even tighter. He knew it wouldn't keep him from bleeding to death, most likely, but at least it wasn't going to be so soon. He'd still have enough time...
Closing his eyes tightly, he ran his hands down his leg slowly, carefully, until they reached the cuff. With trembling fingers, he slid his leg out of the iron ring. The metallic clang echoed through the room as it dropped to the floor. He reached for his jacket and wrapped it around his leg, tying the sleeves around it into a knot.
Willing down the blissful insentience that was threatening to take over his consciousness, House crawled across the floor. Using the pipes to pull himself up, he yanked the defibrillator off the wall and tugged it under his arm, then let himself slide back on the floor and moved towards the door of the kennel. When he finally got there, he had to drag himself up on the grid in order to reach the bolt and slide it back.
The door gave in, spilling him onto the floor of the cage. A gasp escaped his lips as his entire body revolted in pain. Focused entirely on the man lying in front of him, House edged forward, fighting for every inch that brought him closer to Wilson.
As soon as he had reached the still body of his best friend, he pulled him around, spreading him out flat on his back. A quick check confirmed his fears and he tilted Wilson's head back, covering his mouth with his own. He breathed slowly into Wilson's mouth, watching the other man's chest rise and fall as he did so. After a couple of exhalations, he moved down to the chest and ripped the shirt open. Searching for the tip of the sternum, House interlaced his fingers above it and started compressing Wilson's chest, groaning under the effort it took him to balance himself above the other man's body.
He repeated the cycle of giving breath and compressing a couple of times before he dared to interrupt it and reach for the AED. He yanked open the lid impatiently and took out the adhesive pads while he pressed the button to initiate the defibrillator.
His blood-crusted fingers were shaking so badly that he was barely able to peel the wax paper off the pads. When he finally managed, he pressed them onto Wilson's chest. A quick glance to the device told him that it was ready as it had started analyzing Wilson's heart rhythm.
Wiping his hands across his face, House waited for the machine to finally give him the okay to shock, but it was taking its sweet time analyzing, the display taunting him with the little pictogram that advised him to be patient. How could he be patient now when he had to rely on a little box to save his friend's life?
After a seemingly endless time which had House close to tearing the damn pads off again and restart CPR, the machine finally blinked and prompted him with 'shock advised' to push the button which he had tried pressing before but wouldn't work. The defibrillator gave a loud warning beep, then it set off a shock, making Wilson's body twitch. House found the sight unbearable.
A little unsure what to do next with this automated thing, House looked at the monitor, noting that the ECG was still showing pulseless ventricular tachycardia. He cursed and restarted CPR as the machine indicated. As he was pushing down on the chest, the room seemed to sag around him and he faltered in his administrations. House felt his own heart thud in his chest, the blood loss starting to affect him.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue to perform, even though his body was screaming for a rest. He was getting so dizzy that he toppled over when he turned around to the defibrillator once more, pushing the button for another shock.
Again, Wilson jerked and again the AED began analyzing. Fighting himself through the fog of pain that dominated his mind, he began to wonder whether this was just another sadistic game his capturer was playing with him, forcing him to rely on such a device with its own idle pacing when he could have worked much faster with a regular defibrillator. He repeated CPR when the analysis showed no change.
"Damn it, Jimmy, you're not bailing out on me like that..." House ground out. Sweat was pouring down his back from the exertion and he had to fight off another swooning attack as he sat back again to check the monitor once more. "Come on, Jimmy," he murmured, pushing the button.
He watched Wilson's body lift off the floor under the shock and felt desperate all of a sudden. "I fucking need you!" Wilson's body relaxed again and suddenly House had no strength to stay upright anymore. He fell forward onto his hands, a violent tremble going through him. The blackness was closing in on him.
With the last bit of strength he had, he turned his head and looked at the display. It was blinking wildly and some text lit up. He squinted to read it. 'Pulse detected'.
He released his breath in an endless sigh of relief which ended with him collapsing on top of Wilson. Groaning from the effort, he moved to the side to avoid crushing him. His fingers moved up to the other man's throat, finding the faint throb of a pulse. A peaceful smile appeared on his lips as darkness engulfed him.
To be continued tomorrow...
Author: Silver
Website: http://silver.glasscases.net
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: FRAO (adult only) for intense angst and suspense
Spoilers: none. I'm just borrowing the concept of Saw, no plot details.
Warnings: This is a dark story. It features some grisly violence in later parts which is not for the faint of heart. I'll warn specifically when it comes up.
Disclaimer: The characters of House were created by David Shore. The concept of Saw came from the twisted minds of James Wan and Leigh Whannell. No profits are being made from this story. Read Part 1 for a more detailed disclaimer.
Summary: In the hands of the Jigsaw Killer, House finds himself faced with the biggest challenge of his life: finding out what's killing Wilson before it's too late. READ THE WARNINGS.
Crossposted to house_wilson ( here) and house_slash ( here).
Previous parts: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
*******************************
Warning: This chapter features explicit violence.
Part 5
Wilson simply stared at him for a while, processing what he had just been told. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Okay... and what can we do about that?"
House gave another bitter laugh. "Oh, that's the real kicker. Absolutely nothing. Not with any of the tools I've been given. I can discontinue administration of the offending drug, but that should be a given. Other than that... there's just waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Wilson asked quietly.
House sighed deeply. "For your heart to give out."
"Oh..." Wilson swayed on his feet for a second. "That's... a rather bleak outlook on the future."
The only reply House could muster up was a faint nod. He didn't know what else to say.
"You know, somehow I'd appreciate a bit more involvement from you," Wilson said irritably.
Running his hand through his hair, House replied, "What do you want me to do? I'm stuck here, just like you. The mystery is solved. There's nothing else I can do."
"But I'm still dying!" Wilson exclaimed. "There may be no more mystery to it, but it's still pretty damn scary, I'm telling you." He walked around the cell for a couple of steps, then he returned to the grid, his eyes still glittering with accusal. "Maybe it's because of my infidelity that you no longer feel the need to do something. I'm tainted goods."
For a moment, House was actually speechless. "What the fuck?" He didn't give Wilson the chance to elaborate his point, but continued right away. "You think I'm going to let you die on purpose because my wounded heart can't take the humiliation of you being a philandering bastard? Do you really think that low of me?"
Wilson faltered. "No, of course not..."
"Well, thanks a lot for that mark of confidence!" Once more, House was cursing his bum leg, because he really felt the need to pace around and rage right now. "Guess I am inattentive and uncaring. After all, this sadist here seems to know you better than I do! He was probably having a grand time imagining the look on my face when I found out about all this. How was it? Did I look distraught enough to make it worth his while?"
House laughed without humor. "But he knows me quite well too. I really gotta hand it to him, he knows how to push all my buttons. And most of all, he knows that despite all of this I'm not going to abandon you, he made sure of that with the chain, but by God it's not just the one on this wall that's keeping me, and the thought that there's nothing more I can do is fucking killing me!"
After this outburst, he suddenly felt all empty inside. He cast a glance at Wilson who was watching him with somber eyes.
"There's one more thing you can do, though," Wilson said softly.
House didn't ask what, just jerked his head as a silent invitation.
Slowly, Wilson sank down on the floor. Pushing his arms through the gap, he whispered, "You've solved the case. It's time to hold my hand now."
For a moment, House had to press his teeth together to keep his eyes from tearing up. Then he nodded and let himself down on the floor very carefully. He moved as close to Wilson as the chain would allow, then went down further on his stomach to take the other man's hand gently, entwining their fingers.
They stayed like that for a while with Wilson's thumb rubbing across the back of his hand. It made his heart ache.
"Your fingers are trembling too," Wilson pointed out.
"I know, it's the lack of Vicodin." They fell silent again.
"How are you feeling?" House asked after a while.
"Physically, you mean?"
"No..." He pressed Wilson's hand. "Emotionally."
Wilson smiled weakly. "Stupid, most of all."
"Why stupid? I mean, I know that you are, but why are you feeling that way?"
Wilson laughed softly. Then he sobered again. "Because I made all the wrong choices, didn't I? From starting that stupid affair to lying to you about the fever. I guess I'm getting exactly what I deserve."
"Nobody deserves this, Jimmy," House choked out.
Wilson laughed softly. "You're just nice to me because I'm dying."
House wanted to protest, wanted to insist that it wasn't true, but somehow the lie didn't want to leave his mouth.
"Hey, be fair. You wouldn't lie to me now, would you?" Wilson said teasingly, his voice losing strength. "What would you have done if you had found out about this under normal circumstances?"
Thinking about it for a moment, House then replied honestly, "I would have walked out on you."
Wilson nodded calmly. "And this is exactly why I was so afraid of you finding out. The thought of you no longer wanting me..." He trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment.
When he didn't open them again, House felt panic surge up and he squeezed Wilson's hand tightly. "Hey Wilson! Wake up! You can't be a slacker now!"
To his endless relief, Wilson opened his eyes again, albeit very slowly. "What? Oh..." He dragged his hand through his hair. "I'm not feeling so good..." he mumbled.
"It's okay," House said softly, his heart thumping in his chest. "Just lie down, okay? Preserve your strength." He released Wilson's hand so that he could lower himself onto his back.
"So this is what it feels like..." Wilson said weakly once he had settled down. "Knowing you're about to die. I've always wondered what my patients felt like when their time was drawing near. What goes through their heads, what's important to them, what things there are left for them to say. For all that I've tried to be sympathetic, I have never really been able to relate. Now I am..."
House felt as if the pain inside of his chest was becoming unbearable. He dropped his head as the feelings began to overwhelm him. Before he could stop himself, a sob escaped from his mouth and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, fighting to keep his composure.
Gently, Wilson's hand brushed through his hair. "It's okay," he murmured. "I'm ready to go."
Ignoring the fact that Wilson would see the pain in his eyes, House looked up and said heatedly, "But I'm not ready yet, damn it!" He wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks impatiently, feeling the traitorous wetness on them. "I'm a bad boyfriend, no shocker there, but I refuse to be a bad doctor to you."
"It really is okay," Wilson whispered, offering House his hand once more to hold. "You've done your best."
House grabbed the offered hand and pressed a lingering kiss into the palm. "Then my best wasn't good enough..." he choked out, feeling the weight of this realization crush him.
"It was good enough," Wilson said firmly. He ran his hand across House's cheek. "It's not your fault..." His voice faded and his eyelids fluttered shut.
"Wilson!" House said, alarmed, pulling at the other man's arm.
"Why won't you let me sleep, House," Wilson complained weakly.
"Because I'm a selfish bastard, don't you know that? I'm gonna be bored without you," he replied, but the joke just wouldn't come out right. He stifled another sob.
"You were right," Wilson whispered. "When you die, it's suddenly so clear which things are important." He squeezed House's hand tightly. "I lo..."
"Don't," House interrupted Wilson sharply. "Tell me again when you're not dying." Then he said more softly, "You can give me the best blowjob of my life and tell me then, but not now."
Wilson laughed barely audibly. "How can someone as bitter as you be such an optimist?"
"One of us has to be."
Wilson smiled and closed his eyes. His grasp slackened in House's hand.
"Wilson?" he asked with dread, patting the other man's hand. "Wilson!" he said more forcefully, pinching the soft flesh between Wilson's thumb and forefinger. Again, no reaction. With shivering fingers, he searched for a pulse and felt as if all life was drained out of him the instant he realized that there was none.
"Oh God..." he whispered, pressing Wilson's lax hand into his face. The sense of grief was overwhelming. His hands got a hold of the trolley and he slammed it into the wall, the pain this motion caused in his leg only a fragment of what he felt inside. The room was agonizingly quiet now but for his own sobs echoing across the tiles. If only he could reach Wilson and the AED, then he might be able to perform CPR and keep Wilson alive. He screamed and pulled at his shackled leg, trying to somehow loosen the iron clasp, but every jerk just dug the unyielding band deeper into his flesh.
And then there was the hard clang of something falling onto the ground. He looked at it through the blur of pain and grief and realized that it was the saw. He scooted over to it. The decorated handle pressed into his skin as he clutched it. His eyes darted back and forth between the saw and the tortured flesh of his ankle. Then he looked at the still figure of Wilson and hesitated no more.
He grabbed the tourniquet, carelessly discarded earlier, and tied it around his leg, just below his knee. When the blade made a first contact with his skin, breaking it just at the surface, a surge of panic overcame him and he pulled back. He watched the small trickle of blood run down his ankle and thought he'd never felt such disgust at the sight of blood before. He looked at the jagged teeth of the blade and tried to imagine how they'd tear into his flesh, slashing sinews, splitting veins, snapping tendons, destroying tissue, and he felt a wave of sickness roll over him.
His time was limited, he knew that, and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish that thought. He cast Wilson another look. The sight of his best friend, lying there, motionless, was enough for him to be filled with grim resolve.
He reached for the drawer clumsily, not caring that he pulled it out all the way, pouring its content onto the floor. His hands closed around the scalpel with a steady grasp. Something sharp and straight was bound to be less painful than the ripping teeth of a saw. Without debating it a second longer, he plunged the tip of the scalpel into his flesh.
He hadn't been prepared for the intense, searing pain. Perhaps it was amplified by the lack of painkillers and the stress, but for a moment he felt like he couldn't stand it. He cursed inwardly, telling himself that he'd withstood much worse pain than that.
As if this had given him an idea, he let go of the scalpel, leaving it sticking out of his foot like a grotesque check mark, and reached for his cane. He hesitated for just a second, then he brought the handle of the cane down onto his right thigh, brutally connecting it with his tormented muscle. He howled in agony, feeling as if he was about to pass out from the hot, burning pain. But instead of stopping, he hit again and again until tears sprung to his eyes and the pain was radiating out into his entire body, dominating his every thought. This was good. This was the pain he was used to.
Taking a deep breath, he rolled up his pant leg. Then he took off his jacket and stuffed the sleeve between his teeth, partly to muffle his screams, partly to give himself something to dig his teeth into. And then he started cutting.
At first, the pain was still there, but it was mostly drowned out by the hot, relentless throbbing in his thigh. He tried to imagine that it was just a patient he was working on and the warm blood that was trickling over his skin was really someone else's. He tried not to stop, slicing through his flesh in quick and precise moves just as he had learnt to do in med school. Try to focus on the work, not the person. Then cutting into a living being is easy.
When he lost sensation in his foot, he wasn't sure whether it was from his body finally shutting down the pain receptors or because he had severed the right nerve cords, but he welcomed it either way. His vision began to blur, but he kept cutting, slicing, slitting until his fingers lost grip on the scalpel, slick from his own blood.
It fell onto the floor with a thud, the sound of the impact muffled by the pool of blood beneath him. House looked at it for a second, his mind no longer comprehending what he had done. Then he reached for the saw.
His stomach made another churning leap when the teeth of the saw connected with his bone, the vibration crawling all the way up to his core. Gritting his teeth into the fabric of his jacket, he closed his eyes and started sawing.
He didn't know how long it took until the crunching sounds finally stopped and his hand slipped, the saw sliding past his flesh and onto the floor. He fell forward, his entire body out of balance all of a sudden, and he thought he heard the sickening sound of dead meat hitting the floor, slippery, wet and disgusting.
He didn't look, didn't want to see it. He blindly reached for the tourniquet still wrapped around his calf and pulled it even tighter. He knew it wouldn't keep him from bleeding to death, most likely, but at least it wasn't going to be so soon. He'd still have enough time...
Closing his eyes tightly, he ran his hands down his leg slowly, carefully, until they reached the cuff. With trembling fingers, he slid his leg out of the iron ring. The metallic clang echoed through the room as it dropped to the floor. He reached for his jacket and wrapped it around his leg, tying the sleeves around it into a knot.
Willing down the blissful insentience that was threatening to take over his consciousness, House crawled across the floor. Using the pipes to pull himself up, he yanked the defibrillator off the wall and tugged it under his arm, then let himself slide back on the floor and moved towards the door of the kennel. When he finally got there, he had to drag himself up on the grid in order to reach the bolt and slide it back.
The door gave in, spilling him onto the floor of the cage. A gasp escaped his lips as his entire body revolted in pain. Focused entirely on the man lying in front of him, House edged forward, fighting for every inch that brought him closer to Wilson.
As soon as he had reached the still body of his best friend, he pulled him around, spreading him out flat on his back. A quick check confirmed his fears and he tilted Wilson's head back, covering his mouth with his own. He breathed slowly into Wilson's mouth, watching the other man's chest rise and fall as he did so. After a couple of exhalations, he moved down to the chest and ripped the shirt open. Searching for the tip of the sternum, House interlaced his fingers above it and started compressing Wilson's chest, groaning under the effort it took him to balance himself above the other man's body.
He repeated the cycle of giving breath and compressing a couple of times before he dared to interrupt it and reach for the AED. He yanked open the lid impatiently and took out the adhesive pads while he pressed the button to initiate the defibrillator.
His blood-crusted fingers were shaking so badly that he was barely able to peel the wax paper off the pads. When he finally managed, he pressed them onto Wilson's chest. A quick glance to the device told him that it was ready as it had started analyzing Wilson's heart rhythm.
Wiping his hands across his face, House waited for the machine to finally give him the okay to shock, but it was taking its sweet time analyzing, the display taunting him with the little pictogram that advised him to be patient. How could he be patient now when he had to rely on a little box to save his friend's life?
After a seemingly endless time which had House close to tearing the damn pads off again and restart CPR, the machine finally blinked and prompted him with 'shock advised' to push the button which he had tried pressing before but wouldn't work. The defibrillator gave a loud warning beep, then it set off a shock, making Wilson's body twitch. House found the sight unbearable.
A little unsure what to do next with this automated thing, House looked at the monitor, noting that the ECG was still showing pulseless ventricular tachycardia. He cursed and restarted CPR as the machine indicated. As he was pushing down on the chest, the room seemed to sag around him and he faltered in his administrations. House felt his own heart thud in his chest, the blood loss starting to affect him.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue to perform, even though his body was screaming for a rest. He was getting so dizzy that he toppled over when he turned around to the defibrillator once more, pushing the button for another shock.
Again, Wilson jerked and again the AED began analyzing. Fighting himself through the fog of pain that dominated his mind, he began to wonder whether this was just another sadistic game his capturer was playing with him, forcing him to rely on such a device with its own idle pacing when he could have worked much faster with a regular defibrillator. He repeated CPR when the analysis showed no change.
"Damn it, Jimmy, you're not bailing out on me like that..." House ground out. Sweat was pouring down his back from the exertion and he had to fight off another swooning attack as he sat back again to check the monitor once more. "Come on, Jimmy," he murmured, pushing the button.
He watched Wilson's body lift off the floor under the shock and felt desperate all of a sudden. "I fucking need you!" Wilson's body relaxed again and suddenly House had no strength to stay upright anymore. He fell forward onto his hands, a violent tremble going through him. The blackness was closing in on him.
With the last bit of strength he had, he turned his head and looked at the display. It was blinking wildly and some text lit up. He squinted to read it. 'Pulse detected'.
He released his breath in an endless sigh of relief which ended with him collapsing on top of Wilson. Groaning from the effort, he moved to the side to avoid crushing him. His fingers moved up to the other man's throat, finding the faint throb of a pulse. A peaceful smile appeared on his lips as darkness engulfed him.
To be continued tomorrow...