"Betrayal" (House/Wilson, PG-13)
Title: "Betrayal"
Word Count: 437
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Takes place during the events of "Finding Judas." Wilson ponders his role in the Tritter debacle.
Author's Note: Written in response to kassrachel's request earlier this week for something addressing this latest twist in House and Wilson's relationship. I don't know if this is exactly what you meant, darlin', but I had this inspiration that just wouldn't quit.
A hospital is never quiet, not even at night. Particularly not at night. Dr. James Wilson had plenty of time to ponder this fact, and its implications for the likelihood of patients feeling comfortable while trying to heal, as he lay on the couch in his office. Sure, he could have gone home, but to what? To whom? He didn't much feel like explaining yet again to lawyers and landlords why checks were not in the mail for alimony and rent--accounts frozen, you see, an ongoing investigation, a question of identity theft--or spending another night in bed alone, without House, without even the scant company a few patient charts might have afforded him.
Since that first night at the jail, Wilson had watched everything he loved about Gregory House slip away, until only the raw animal pain was left. Seeing House in pain was too much to bear. Not being able to help him ease that pain was worse still. And, dammit, Wilson didn't want that insane trip to Atlantic City to be their last night together.
Lying there in the dark, Wilson half-remembered a story he'd heard as a child about the golem, the clay man brought to life with the power of the written word. The golem grew violent and killed the people it was supposed to defend; only the removal of the magical slip of paper inside its forehead which gave the golem life could stop it. House had created Tritter, Wilson thought, created him as surely as if out of clay. Now Tritter had taken everything from him, from them, and who would--who could--stop him?
He slept fitfully that night, unable to block from his mind the image of forged prescription slips.
***
It wasn't just Wilson. He knew that now. Chase, Cameron, Foreman--what had they ever done wrong? They were just kids. They couldn't stop House. Hell, not even Cuddy could stop House, most days. House had always chosen to stand too close to the edge, and until today, it had always seemed that some better angel was protecting him.
Wilson sat over his half a sandwich, head in hands. He knew Tritter lay in wait in the empty office, gray and still, with his emotionless face and his empty ice-blue eyes. It was Wilson's name on those slips, it was Wilson's word that had set Tritter against them all.
And Wilson knew with a terrible finality that, whatever happened, no matter what more it would cost him, only he could stop this.
Word Count: 437
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Takes place during the events of "Finding Judas." Wilson ponders his role in the Tritter debacle.
Author's Note: Written in response to kassrachel's request earlier this week for something addressing this latest twist in House and Wilson's relationship. I don't know if this is exactly what you meant, darlin', but I had this inspiration that just wouldn't quit.
A hospital is never quiet, not even at night. Particularly not at night. Dr. James Wilson had plenty of time to ponder this fact, and its implications for the likelihood of patients feeling comfortable while trying to heal, as he lay on the couch in his office. Sure, he could have gone home, but to what? To whom? He didn't much feel like explaining yet again to lawyers and landlords why checks were not in the mail for alimony and rent--accounts frozen, you see, an ongoing investigation, a question of identity theft--or spending another night in bed alone, without House, without even the scant company a few patient charts might have afforded him.
Since that first night at the jail, Wilson had watched everything he loved about Gregory House slip away, until only the raw animal pain was left. Seeing House in pain was too much to bear. Not being able to help him ease that pain was worse still. And, dammit, Wilson didn't want that insane trip to Atlantic City to be their last night together.
Lying there in the dark, Wilson half-remembered a story he'd heard as a child about the golem, the clay man brought to life with the power of the written word. The golem grew violent and killed the people it was supposed to defend; only the removal of the magical slip of paper inside its forehead which gave the golem life could stop it. House had created Tritter, Wilson thought, created him as surely as if out of clay. Now Tritter had taken everything from him, from them, and who would--who could--stop him?
He slept fitfully that night, unable to block from his mind the image of forged prescription slips.
***
It wasn't just Wilson. He knew that now. Chase, Cameron, Foreman--what had they ever done wrong? They were just kids. They couldn't stop House. Hell, not even Cuddy could stop House, most days. House had always chosen to stand too close to the edge, and until today, it had always seemed that some better angel was protecting him.
Wilson sat over his half a sandwich, head in hands. He knew Tritter lay in wait in the empty office, gray and still, with his emotionless face and his empty ice-blue eyes. It was Wilson's name on those slips, it was Wilson's word that had set Tritter against them all.
And Wilson knew with a terrible finality that, whatever happened, no matter what more it would cost him, only he could stop this.