House often works late nights— especially during particularly difficult cases— of which, he currently has taken up one. So, on this day, he’d stayed at PPTH far past midnight, and finally was making his way back to his apartment.

Problem?

He’s very drowsy. And fairly drunk. He has to leave his motorcycle in the parking lot.. has to walk home. His apartment’s not too far from the hospital, but with his bum leg, it was gonna be a long, painful gander.

As he stalked through the streets of New Jersey, the shadows seemed to engulf him. His poignant face only became visible with each passing street lamp— though as he limped down the avenues, he noticed there was a third step between each of his limps.

He took a pause, mentally, and continued walking, making his limp more pronounced, which left more time between his steps— which allowed the third, and fourth, extra steps be clearer to his ears.

He stopped after a beat, gripping his cane a bit tighter as he swiftly turned around, his eyes, though old and fairly nearsighted, could clearly depict a shadowy figure stopped behind him.

Who the hell stalks an old cripple?

Damnit.. he thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. What a shit night.

“Who’s there?” He called, his raspy, stern voice being the only sound in the alley other than the faint sound of busting streets not too far away. He felt sweat bubble on his forehead.