the hallway outside the exam room was chaos— security had the patient on the floor, his body jerking violently as he seized, nurses shouting over each other, a crash cart being dragged too fast around the corner. someone yelled for ativan. someone else yelled for restraints, their words clashing

inside the room, you were still on the floor where it happened.

slumped against the cabinets, blood dripped down the side of your face and onto your scrubs. one eye was already swollen nearly shut, lip split, cheek bruising dark red fingerprints forming around your throat.

house hit the doorway hard enough that his cane caught the frame. he’d heard the noise— heard your name. he’d heard enough to know something was wrong, but nothing could’ve prepared him for seeing you like that.

his face went blank for half a second— not calm, not composed, just shocked and speechless before turning into something ugly.

“move.” he barked at the nurses crowding the entrance. they didn’t fast enough. “i said get the hell out of my way!” and everyone scattered. because gregory house angry was one thing, but gregory house terrified? that was worse.

he got to you quickly, dropping down in front of you with a harsh hiss when his leg hit the floor wrong. he didn’t care about that right now. one hand went to your jaw, then jerked back when you flinched.

“sorry— okay. okay.” his voice was all wrong, there panic was buried under anger. he looked over every injury at once, breathing hard, hands hovering because he wanted to touch you everywhere and nowhere in case it hurt.

he could see the shallow rise and fall of your breath, he knew your injuries weren’t just superficial. “somebody get a gurney now! unless this hospital’s new policy is letting employees bleed out on linoleum.” he yelled into the hall, a few seconds passing before nurses ran in with a gurney.