Chapter Text
House had finished up with his second patient of the day, which had taken a grand total of… 9 minutes out of the 3 hours he needed to complete. He stifled a groan as he sorted through the folder of the idiot he’d just treated. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to figure out how to skive off for more than 5 minutes without getting caught. Ultimately, this didn’t help him think at all; just made him aware of how much he needed a haircut, it was ages since he'd last trimmed it. Today was apparently STD awareness day in the clinic, as far as he could tell, that’s what everyone was here for. And by god, House was not happy about it.
Unfortunately, he’d made a bet with Wilson that he’d try to go through today without insulting anyone, and despite the fact that he was married to the man, he just couldn’t lose a bet to him. Even if it was only 20$. The door opened without a knock, which was strange, and he looked up from his file to see who’d just entered. It wasn’t a doctor, which was even weirder, as they were usually the only ones to barge into consults unannounced. At least, House was.
“I guess the nurses sent you in early, but I gotta finish this so you’re gonna have to wait.” To his credit, House was trying to be polite -or at least not rude as he usually was- to the patient. He’d no clue if it was working though; usually other people were his rudeness litmus. His gaze flickered to the patient’s empty hands. It was odd that they hadn’t brought in the file themselves after coming in early. Come to think about it, the situation itself was odd, nurses didn’t usually send the patient in without the clinic doctor signalling that they’re ready. House went to glance at the nurses’ station out the window, but realised quickly that the blinds were still closed from the examination before. They were probably screwing with him to make sure he did his clinic hours properly.
Despite the way that anomalies usually excited House, this one was beginning to leave a sour feeling in his insides and knaw at his thigh. Alarm bells began to go off in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help his memory flicking back to Moriarty or that bastard who’d held him at gunpoint for a diagnosis. Heavily, House let out a sigh in an attempt to release some of the internal pressure, and closed the file. “How can I help you today?” It came out a little sarcastic but he was off-balance right now. The person who’d just entered the exam room didn’t respond, just stood in the doorway. The alarm bells got louder.
House sat up, frowning at the guy a little. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he noted that the guy was just a bit shorter than he was. “I’m just gonna take this back to the nurses station, wait here.” Wilson would probably have said please, but then again these things never seemed to happen to Wilson. Still on edge, he grabbed his cane and got up. As House went to leave, he was interrupted by the guy finally doing something.
Unfortunately for House, that something was kicking his cane out of his grip. He stumbled, almost fully falling on his face, and managed to catch the worktop on his way down. The cane flew across the room, hitting the wall with a clatter and the file in his hand scattered across the floor. This was just like that bastard Tritter.
Before House had a chance to straighten up and confront this asshole, something solid hit him in the gut. He lost balance, staggering back onto his bad leg which buckled painfully. Gracelessly, he fell backwards into the metal stool, then sideways onto the ground behind the exam table. “What the hell is your problem?!” He demanded as he tried to get up, stopping halfway when he felt where the stool had hit his spine. House made a vain attempt to peer round the table blocking his view of the assailant.
Again, there was no response except for the guy storming back into his field of vision and grabbing House’s shoulder, pushing him all the way down to the ground. His left shoulder impacted painfully into the linoleum. House tried to get back up again, struggling on account of having all his weight on top of his left leg. He couldn’t shift it onto the right, because that would fucking hurt. So he was stuck, staring agitatedly at his attacker, waiting for their next move.
The guy grabbed his hair, and smacked his head against the ground. In a detached way, House heard the dull thump of his skull against the floor before he felt it. And then he did feel it. Instinctively, he went still, slumping to the ground as he tried to process anything other than the pain in his head. Starbursts exploded and danced across his vision. Hopefully it wasn’t a concussion.
He opened his eyes just in time to watch the bastard kick the infarction site on his right leg. That, as expected, hurt more than the blunt force trauma currently pounding on his skull. He curled in on himself, almost blacking out from the pain, failing to supress a groan.
That was still not enough for the attacker, who once again grabbed House by the hair and slammed his head into the linoleum. This time, there was no brief moment of calm before the nerves got the signal across, and his headache ramped up without mercy.
Unconvincingly, he tried to tell himself that if he lay still, then maybe the bastard would relent. This theory had never been proved right, across his whole life, but maybe exceptions can prove the rules.
Regrettably, this did not prove the theory correct.
As House was trying to figure out what hurt more and to think in a straight line, there was a sudden white hot agonising sensation in the centre of his hand. House gasped, his eyes watering. It hurt so badly and so quickly that he didn’t manage to make a noise to acknowledge the pain. He lay back, screwing his eyes shut and wincing.
This sudden white hot agonising sensation was accompanied by the feeling of warm liquid welling up around the source of the pain. Oh shit. He opened his eyes, and there was a scalpel impaled directly through his palm.
He drew in a shaky, staggering breath, watching his hand shake. The movement was creating a spattering of crimson on his sleeve and the nearby exam table. A dissociative calmness was permeating through him, as if it started at the wound. Likely shock.
The scalpel was in his hand deep enough to have equal halves sticking out either side, and blood was dripping from it rapidly enough to simultaneously make a puddle on the floor and run down the inside of his sleeve and ruin his shirt. Probably hit the vein. His fingers twitched, sending little sparks of pain running down his arm. The only one that didn’t twitch was his middle finger. Either the nerve or tendon had been severed. His money was on tendon, because he could certainly feel his hand.
It was amazing how enough pain in enough different places in the body can distract from everything but how much it hurt. For example, House probably wouldn’t have noticed that his attacker injected him with something if he hadn’t seen it while staring in shock at his hand. He looked up wide eyed as they straightened up, somehow not having gotten blood on themselves.
The syringe was dropped on the ground with a distinctive plink and the attacker left. Like a true asshole, they left in a decidedly unbothered manner.
They left House lying on the cold linoleum floor, possibly bleeding out, and in complete and utter agony.
He knew how much blood loss would lead to a blackout, and how fast veins bled, but he didn’t know what he’d been injected with. He also knew that there was no way he’d be able to shout for help or get up, so his only option was the phone in his pocket.
Thoughts were starting to get caught on the inner walls of his mind and get tangled, the way fat builds up in a vein. That metaphor was a little clunky, he supposed that the inevitable clot blockage would represent unconsciousness.
Great to know he thought about blood clots specifically, in that scenario. The infarction definitely hadn’t affected him at all.
Shit. Focus before you pass out, idiot.
With the non-impaled hand, he managed to pull out his phone, flip it open and hit redial. He had no idea who he’d last called but hopefully it was someone in the building.