Fic: Cycles: Suspicion (2/3)
Okay, after being chained to my desk last night, I got a speedy edit on this and decided to post it tonight. YAY!
Title: Cycles: Suspicion
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summary: Wilson was definitely hiding something. In the process of trying to figure out the big secret, House stumbles onto something else entirely...
Word Count: In the range of 2,200
Spoilers/Warnings/Disclaimer: Teeny detail taken from Three Stories, but I'm assuming every House fan has seen S1/Once again, warnings for AU and a teensy bit of violence/And I do not own...
Note: Yes, part 2 is out finally. This is second in the "Cycles" Trilogy. Read on, and I hope to have part 3 up next week.
Cycles: Reminiscence (part 1)
Part 2: Suspicion
It was official: Wilson was hiding something. The only problem now was that House had no idea what the big secret could be. Ever since the missed invitation about two weeks ago, Wilson had been awfully edgy. And sure, maybe he was losing more patients than usual, there could be a million other explanations for why Wilson was acting the way he was around his friend, but none had sit well with House at all.
This thought process is exactly what led to House sitting in Wilson’s office chair that afternoon, snooping through his desk drawers while the friend in question was in a department head meeting that House had so conveniently escaped, yet again. Leaning forward for another go, House started pulling open drawers, rifling through the items as if he would end up finding some secret Cuddy-obsessed shrine or something.
“Come on!” House exclaimed, slamming another drawer shut. “There’s got to be something going on here! Some illicit blackmail material that I could hold over his head!” Checking the bottom drawer on his left, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was locked. “Bingo.”
House pulled out a paperclip from another drawer and unfolded it, attempting to pick the lock. After a few tries, he threw it down and felt under the table for the release. With a click, the drawer unlocked and House pulled it open.
“Of course.” The drawer was filled with patient files, organized alphabetically, and House rolled his eyes at the sight. Of course Mister Professional-Doctor would have something like this set up. Closing the drawer, House leaned back in the chair again, reaching in his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin and dry-swallowed one.
House had no idea what he expected to find. Maybe a list of phone numbers for every nurse in the oncology department, his secret journal, who knows what. Well, there was still a lot of office to search, but there was no way he would have the time to do that. Wilson was probably on his way back to his office now, preparing to get ready for some cancer cue ball to come in to thank him again.
Grabbing his cane, he stood up and made his way to the balcony, admitting defeat, for now. He’d figure it out sooner or later, with or without Wilson’s help.
Wilson leaned back in his chair later that afternoon, running a hand over his face after a patient had left with the prognosis of a year to live. Another day, another three patients that had thanked him, and it was all coming down on him, suffocating him like some invisible blanket. The gratitude and hope he saw everyday in his patients’ faces had always affected some deeper part of him that couldn’t be shown. Wilson was grateful for the chance to relax for a while without distractions.
The man opened his mouth in a silent scream as Wilson drew his blade. Before any sound could come from the victim, Wilson aimed his slash at the man’s throat, forcing blood to spatter everywhere, including the invisible droplets on Wilson’s own black suit.
“Ah!” Wilson shot out of his chair, gripping the desk frantically for something to hold onto. As he struggled to slow his breathing, he heard the clatter as House dropped his cane on his side of the balcony. Quickly schooling his expression, he brought his most recent patient file to the center of the desk and opened it, trying to focus on something other than the constant flashbacks.
With a quick glance to his desktop planner before the limping twerp opened the door, he saw that it was April 24th, eight days until the full moon. He forced the thought to the back of his mind as the balcony door opened, House walking through it and sitting at the chair in front of Wilson’s desk.
“What’s up? I’m busy,” Wilson said automatically, glancing up at his friend before turning back to the file.
“Bored. Kids are running tests and Cuddy wants me in the clinic. I don’t feel like diagnosing runny noses all day,” House said, leaning his chin on the handle of his cane.
“So you decided to come in here with the hopes that I’ll hide you. You know this is the first place Cuddy will look,” Wilson replied, closing the file and giving up any hope that he would be able to get some work done right now.
“True. But it buys me a few minutes. Bring pizza tonight. I have movies and beer.” And with that, House was gone, leaving the way he had come. Wilson sighed again, and turned to the lone file on his desk, knowing that there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate right now. He leaned back in his chair, thinking about one of the many flashbacks that he had been having lately. Ever since last month, they had been increasing in intensity and frequency, even coming into his dreams. It made him think a little bit.
Had the events of his past really had an effect on who he was today? The way he treats House, his patients, his colleagues, it was a complete one-eighty from how it would’ve played out so many years ago. Part of him wondered briefly how House would react if he figured out that Wilson had once been a cold-blooded murderer.
“No. He doesn’t need to find that out. That part of my life is way behind me,” he said aloud with a small laugh. But it still affects you today, James. Just look at what you become every month. Shaking his head against the flooding thoughts, he stood, figuring that he should probably get in some clinic hours before too long.
House turned his head as he heard the knock at his door later that night. Looking to the digital clock on his television, he thought, about time.
“You have your key, use it,” he said as he got to his feet. Limping to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and got out two bottles of beer as he heard the door open. Walking back to the living room, he saw Wilson set down a large pizza box before sitting down on the couch, lifting his feet onto the coffee table and leaning back, sighing.
“You look like someone refused you a date. Have a beer.” House tossed one of the bottles to Wilson as he sat down, opening his own bottle.
“Thanks,” he replied. House took a drink while observing his friend, wondering what was wrong. Wilson looked out of it, even though he seemed perfectly fine this afternoon. For a moment he thought that Wilson might have lost another patient, but he would’ve heard about it. What’s going on here, Jimmy?
“So, you going to spill or not?” House asked. Wilson tilted his head up and looked toward his friend.
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking slightly surprised.
“Well, something obviously happened today. You went from “normal” to “I-feel-like-drowning-all-my-sorrows” in less than three hours. Something’s going on.” House blinked. Did Wilson actually look relieved at that? Wilson sighed, chuckling under his breath.
“You owe me thirty,” was all he said before turning back to the TV. House raised an eyebrow, alarms going off in his mind.
Yup, Wilson was hiding something alright. The only problem was how to get Wilson to spill. Maybe a few more beers would loosen him up a bit. Wilson wasn’t usually the admitting drunk, but if asked the right questions…
Six beers and an hour later, Wilson was finally what would be considered drunk. He leaned his head back against the sofa, his tie gone, collar undone and telling some joke about one of the patients he had in clinic today who obviously didn’t know what diabetes was. House laughed along, only slightly buzzed himself. He may have been eager for a high, but he wasn’t stupid enough to mix beer and Vicodin to the point where he was nearly passed out.
House tried asking Wilson what was going on without being too conspicuous, but with the raised eyebrows he was getting from the other man, he figured that he obviously was not going to get any answers tonight. There was also no way Wilson was going home tonight, so that was a mild accomplishment. House figured that he would test whether or not that truth in sleep thing really worked.
Eventually, House stood up, making his way to the closet for a pillow and a blanket. He practically threw them at Wilson and with an uttered “good night”, House shut himself in his room, willing to wait a few hours while relaxing a bit himself.
When he woke up, House immediately looked to the clock on his nightstand and discovered that it was nearing three in the morning. Rising reluctantly, he limped to the hallway, and eventually heard murmuring coming from the couch. Maybe I won’t have to try out the honesty thing after all…
House limped further into the room, the whispers on the couch easier to distinguish now. House raised an eyebrow at how much Wilson talked in his sleep before deciding to sit on the table and listen in for a while.
Wilson was tossing, obviously in the middle of something vivid or a nightmare. House snorted in slight amusement at the idea of him falling off the couch because of his tossing.
“House…” Wilson groaned. House looked to his face, trying to dissect his expression. It seemed…pained? Nightmare then. Wincing slightly, House regretted getting up and walking around without taking at least a Vicodin first. Lifting himself off the table, he limped toward his room, going for his pill bottle.
“Leave him alone!” House turned back to the form on the couch, surprised at the shout. Apparently his friend was still asleep, so he kept going. After taking a couple pills, he went back to his post at the coffee table, a part of him wondering why he was going to such lengths. “Leave…out of this…not involved.” But Wilson really was lucid in his sleep. It was hard to just ignore it. He yawned, asking himself why this thing would go to such lengths as to keep him awake just to discover this big secret.
“House!” House had enough… It was a nightmare, not much to get out of this. Getting up slowly, he limped back to his room, stopping suddenly as he heard the next words that came out of Wilson’s mouth.
“…Love…him.” House turned slightly, looking skeptically at the form still tossing on the couch. Raising an eyebrow, he wondered what could possibly be going on in Wilson’s head. Ideas flitted in his mind, and House was able to form a small hypothesis before going back to sleep.
Over the next week, House spent all of his free time in Wilson’s business, and even some time that wasn’t free. Cuddy was still after him for the clinic, and he had even gone as far as asking Foreman to break into Wilson’s apartment. Of course, Foreman had raised an eyebrow and blew everything off as a joke. House even managed to get his hands on Wilson’s cell phone (but that really did nothing except have Wilson go on a frantic search for the darned thing, and there was nothing really relevant, so House soon returned it). That left the next evening.
“You’re a pretty hard person to figure out, Wilson,” House said, leaning forward slightly on the concrete barrier. Wilson, who had just arrived moments ago after meeting with a patient, looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
They both were on the balconies that joined their offices. House was on Wilson’s side of the wall, and Wilson had come out to meet him, needing some fresh air from the clear night.
“I pride myself in keeping up a mysterious appearance,” Wilson retorted, settling into the normal banter to try and settle the slight anxiety in his stomach.
“But I think I figured you out.” House turned to face Wilson, whose expression had gone from sarcastic to surprised.
“What are you talking about?” Wilson asked, his inward anxiety increasing tenfold before his rational mind could do anything about it.
“You, my friend, are madly in love with me.” Wilson blinked. He looked for any sign on House’s face that relayed this as a joke. He blinked again. Then he started laughing.
“What makes you think that?” he asked after his laughter managed to quiet.
“Easy. I’ve done extensive research, and you’re obviously hiding something. But, even simpler than that, there’s your reaction to this.” And House kissed him, watching Wilson’s wide-eyed reaction before he went along and kissed back.
It was like some sort of cliché fairy tale. House wasn’t really being possessive about it, like Wilson thought he might be; instead, it was more like gentle. Uncharacteristically gentle, and Wilson felt his mind react almost instantly. He forgot completely about his previous anxiety, surrendering to the euphoria that was this moment. He could get used to this.
House leaned back against the wall, and Wilson followed him, now leading the kiss. It was a really clear night, and the flood lamps added in with the light from both their offices, mixed with yet another source of illumination.
Wilson looked at the oddly bright moon from the corner of his eye, and his ecstasy turned instantly into abject horror, the pit in his stomach deepening indefinitely.
It was a full moon.
To Be Continued
Title: Cycles: Suspicion
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summary: Wilson was definitely hiding something. In the process of trying to figure out the big secret, House stumbles onto something else entirely...
Word Count: In the range of 2,200
Spoilers/Warnings/Disclaimer: Teeny detail taken from Three Stories, but I'm assuming every House fan has seen S1/Once again, warnings for AU and a teensy bit of violence/And I do not own...
Note: Yes, part 2 is out finally. This is second in the "Cycles" Trilogy. Read on, and I hope to have part 3 up next week.
Cycles: Reminiscence (part 1)
Part 2: Suspicion
It was official: Wilson was hiding something. The only problem now was that House had no idea what the big secret could be. Ever since the missed invitation about two weeks ago, Wilson had been awfully edgy. And sure, maybe he was losing more patients than usual, there could be a million other explanations for why Wilson was acting the way he was around his friend, but none had sit well with House at all.
This thought process is exactly what led to House sitting in Wilson’s office chair that afternoon, snooping through his desk drawers while the friend in question was in a department head meeting that House had so conveniently escaped, yet again. Leaning forward for another go, House started pulling open drawers, rifling through the items as if he would end up finding some secret Cuddy-obsessed shrine or something.
“Come on!” House exclaimed, slamming another drawer shut. “There’s got to be something going on here! Some illicit blackmail material that I could hold over his head!” Checking the bottom drawer on his left, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was locked. “Bingo.”
House pulled out a paperclip from another drawer and unfolded it, attempting to pick the lock. After a few tries, he threw it down and felt under the table for the release. With a click, the drawer unlocked and House pulled it open.
“Of course.” The drawer was filled with patient files, organized alphabetically, and House rolled his eyes at the sight. Of course Mister Professional-Doctor would have something like this set up. Closing the drawer, House leaned back in the chair again, reaching in his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin and dry-swallowed one.
House had no idea what he expected to find. Maybe a list of phone numbers for every nurse in the oncology department, his secret journal, who knows what. Well, there was still a lot of office to search, but there was no way he would have the time to do that. Wilson was probably on his way back to his office now, preparing to get ready for some cancer cue ball to come in to thank him again.
Grabbing his cane, he stood up and made his way to the balcony, admitting defeat, for now. He’d figure it out sooner or later, with or without Wilson’s help.
Wilson leaned back in his chair later that afternoon, running a hand over his face after a patient had left with the prognosis of a year to live. Another day, another three patients that had thanked him, and it was all coming down on him, suffocating him like some invisible blanket. The gratitude and hope he saw everyday in his patients’ faces had always affected some deeper part of him that couldn’t be shown. Wilson was grateful for the chance to relax for a while without distractions.
The man opened his mouth in a silent scream as Wilson drew his blade. Before any sound could come from the victim, Wilson aimed his slash at the man’s throat, forcing blood to spatter everywhere, including the invisible droplets on Wilson’s own black suit.
“Ah!” Wilson shot out of his chair, gripping the desk frantically for something to hold onto. As he struggled to slow his breathing, he heard the clatter as House dropped his cane on his side of the balcony. Quickly schooling his expression, he brought his most recent patient file to the center of the desk and opened it, trying to focus on something other than the constant flashbacks.
With a quick glance to his desktop planner before the limping twerp opened the door, he saw that it was April 24th, eight days until the full moon. He forced the thought to the back of his mind as the balcony door opened, House walking through it and sitting at the chair in front of Wilson’s desk.
“What’s up? I’m busy,” Wilson said automatically, glancing up at his friend before turning back to the file.
“Bored. Kids are running tests and Cuddy wants me in the clinic. I don’t feel like diagnosing runny noses all day,” House said, leaning his chin on the handle of his cane.
“So you decided to come in here with the hopes that I’ll hide you. You know this is the first place Cuddy will look,” Wilson replied, closing the file and giving up any hope that he would be able to get some work done right now.
“True. But it buys me a few minutes. Bring pizza tonight. I have movies and beer.” And with that, House was gone, leaving the way he had come. Wilson sighed again, and turned to the lone file on his desk, knowing that there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate right now. He leaned back in his chair, thinking about one of the many flashbacks that he had been having lately. Ever since last month, they had been increasing in intensity and frequency, even coming into his dreams. It made him think a little bit.
Had the events of his past really had an effect on who he was today? The way he treats House, his patients, his colleagues, it was a complete one-eighty from how it would’ve played out so many years ago. Part of him wondered briefly how House would react if he figured out that Wilson had once been a cold-blooded murderer.
“No. He doesn’t need to find that out. That part of my life is way behind me,” he said aloud with a small laugh. But it still affects you today, James. Just look at what you become every month. Shaking his head against the flooding thoughts, he stood, figuring that he should probably get in some clinic hours before too long.
House turned his head as he heard the knock at his door later that night. Looking to the digital clock on his television, he thought, about time.
“You have your key, use it,” he said as he got to his feet. Limping to the kitchen, he opened the fridge and got out two bottles of beer as he heard the door open. Walking back to the living room, he saw Wilson set down a large pizza box before sitting down on the couch, lifting his feet onto the coffee table and leaning back, sighing.
“You look like someone refused you a date. Have a beer.” House tossed one of the bottles to Wilson as he sat down, opening his own bottle.
“Thanks,” he replied. House took a drink while observing his friend, wondering what was wrong. Wilson looked out of it, even though he seemed perfectly fine this afternoon. For a moment he thought that Wilson might have lost another patient, but he would’ve heard about it. What’s going on here, Jimmy?
“So, you going to spill or not?” House asked. Wilson tilted his head up and looked toward his friend.
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking slightly surprised.
“Well, something obviously happened today. You went from “normal” to “I-feel-like-drowning-all-my-sorrows” in less than three hours. Something’s going on.” House blinked. Did Wilson actually look relieved at that? Wilson sighed, chuckling under his breath.
“You owe me thirty,” was all he said before turning back to the TV. House raised an eyebrow, alarms going off in his mind.
Yup, Wilson was hiding something alright. The only problem was how to get Wilson to spill. Maybe a few more beers would loosen him up a bit. Wilson wasn’t usually the admitting drunk, but if asked the right questions…
Six beers and an hour later, Wilson was finally what would be considered drunk. He leaned his head back against the sofa, his tie gone, collar undone and telling some joke about one of the patients he had in clinic today who obviously didn’t know what diabetes was. House laughed along, only slightly buzzed himself. He may have been eager for a high, but he wasn’t stupid enough to mix beer and Vicodin to the point where he was nearly passed out.
House tried asking Wilson what was going on without being too conspicuous, but with the raised eyebrows he was getting from the other man, he figured that he obviously was not going to get any answers tonight. There was also no way Wilson was going home tonight, so that was a mild accomplishment. House figured that he would test whether or not that truth in sleep thing really worked.
Eventually, House stood up, making his way to the closet for a pillow and a blanket. He practically threw them at Wilson and with an uttered “good night”, House shut himself in his room, willing to wait a few hours while relaxing a bit himself.
When he woke up, House immediately looked to the clock on his nightstand and discovered that it was nearing three in the morning. Rising reluctantly, he limped to the hallway, and eventually heard murmuring coming from the couch. Maybe I won’t have to try out the honesty thing after all…
House limped further into the room, the whispers on the couch easier to distinguish now. House raised an eyebrow at how much Wilson talked in his sleep before deciding to sit on the table and listen in for a while.
Wilson was tossing, obviously in the middle of something vivid or a nightmare. House snorted in slight amusement at the idea of him falling off the couch because of his tossing.
“House…” Wilson groaned. House looked to his face, trying to dissect his expression. It seemed…pained? Nightmare then. Wincing slightly, House regretted getting up and walking around without taking at least a Vicodin first. Lifting himself off the table, he limped toward his room, going for his pill bottle.
“Leave him alone!” House turned back to the form on the couch, surprised at the shout. Apparently his friend was still asleep, so he kept going. After taking a couple pills, he went back to his post at the coffee table, a part of him wondering why he was going to such lengths. “Leave…out of this…not involved.” But Wilson really was lucid in his sleep. It was hard to just ignore it. He yawned, asking himself why this thing would go to such lengths as to keep him awake just to discover this big secret.
“House!” House had enough… It was a nightmare, not much to get out of this. Getting up slowly, he limped back to his room, stopping suddenly as he heard the next words that came out of Wilson’s mouth.
“…Love…him.” House turned slightly, looking skeptically at the form still tossing on the couch. Raising an eyebrow, he wondered what could possibly be going on in Wilson’s head. Ideas flitted in his mind, and House was able to form a small hypothesis before going back to sleep.
Over the next week, House spent all of his free time in Wilson’s business, and even some time that wasn’t free. Cuddy was still after him for the clinic, and he had even gone as far as asking Foreman to break into Wilson’s apartment. Of course, Foreman had raised an eyebrow and blew everything off as a joke. House even managed to get his hands on Wilson’s cell phone (but that really did nothing except have Wilson go on a frantic search for the darned thing, and there was nothing really relevant, so House soon returned it). That left the next evening.
“You’re a pretty hard person to figure out, Wilson,” House said, leaning forward slightly on the concrete barrier. Wilson, who had just arrived moments ago after meeting with a patient, looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
They both were on the balconies that joined their offices. House was on Wilson’s side of the wall, and Wilson had come out to meet him, needing some fresh air from the clear night.
“I pride myself in keeping up a mysterious appearance,” Wilson retorted, settling into the normal banter to try and settle the slight anxiety in his stomach.
“But I think I figured you out.” House turned to face Wilson, whose expression had gone from sarcastic to surprised.
“What are you talking about?” Wilson asked, his inward anxiety increasing tenfold before his rational mind could do anything about it.
“You, my friend, are madly in love with me.” Wilson blinked. He looked for any sign on House’s face that relayed this as a joke. He blinked again. Then he started laughing.
“What makes you think that?” he asked after his laughter managed to quiet.
“Easy. I’ve done extensive research, and you’re obviously hiding something. But, even simpler than that, there’s your reaction to this.” And House kissed him, watching Wilson’s wide-eyed reaction before he went along and kissed back.
It was like some sort of cliché fairy tale. House wasn’t really being possessive about it, like Wilson thought he might be; instead, it was more like gentle. Uncharacteristically gentle, and Wilson felt his mind react almost instantly. He forgot completely about his previous anxiety, surrendering to the euphoria that was this moment. He could get used to this.
House leaned back against the wall, and Wilson followed him, now leading the kiss. It was a really clear night, and the flood lamps added in with the light from both their offices, mixed with yet another source of illumination.
Wilson looked at the oddly bright moon from the corner of his eye, and his ecstasy turned instantly into abject horror, the pit in his stomach deepening indefinitely.
It was a full moon.
To Be Continued