House M.D. Fanfiction: Held Hostage (19/21) Pt. 2
Title: Held Hostage
Author: pgrabia
Disclaimer: House M.D., its character’s, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.
Characters/Pairing: G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy, random characters from canon and OCs/House/Cuddy established; House/Wilson Pre-slash/slash.
A/N: This story runs AU, what I would like to see happen if House and Cuddy should ever plan to get married. I’m sick of Huddy already-it’s completely ruined the show-so if you like Huddy, then you’ll hate this and you might as well move along to another fic.
Also, I want to give a big thank you to George Stark II for being my ever patient beta!
Genre: Drama/Romance.
Spoiler Alert: This story involves spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season Seven, Ep. Ten.
Word Count: ~4700 including introduction.
Rating: M (NC-17) for Adult subject matter, coarse language, violence, drug and alcohol use, and explicit sexuality.
Chapter Nineteen Pt 2
They drove with the headlights off following the route Porter had told them by the light of the moon. House was behind the wheel, unable to repress a smile. He knew that Wilson and he were possibly in a shitload of trouble from the police and definitely from Cuddy, but he hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Sneaking around in the middle of the night with Wilson to get away from the cops was a hell of a lot more exciting than business dinners and fundraisers at Cuddy’s side. Especially when the message to him beforehand was to keep his mouth shut and ‘try not to embarrass me tonight!’ He knew it also had to do with the fact that he was with Wilson, the one he’d always loved more than he ever possibly could have anyone else, including Cuddy.
He glanced over at Wilson and noticed that the oncologist was watching him with a thoughtful, amused expression.
“What?” House demanded, feeling a little uncomfortable under such intense scrutiny.
“You’re having a good time, aren’t you?” Wilson asked him quietly.
The diagnostician smiled genuinely, “And you aren’t?”
“The possibility of being arrested is putting a damper on my mood,” Wilson admitted.
House rolled his eyes. Wilson was ever the worrywart. The man had to learn to relax and quit living his life in the worst possible future and to live in the present instead. It was a wonder that Wilson didn’t have an ulcer from all his worrying; of course, he supposedly had gastritis which House would insist upon confirming with an upper GI endoscopy as soon as they returned home.
“You’re not going to be arrested,” House assured him confidently. “As for the kidnapping charge I’ll vouch for the fact that I’m with you willingly.”
“Could be Stockholm Syndrome,” Wilson debated, smirking. “Or torture.”
“Well, there is the cock-zapper in my suitcase,” House acknowledged.
“You still have it? I thought for sure you’d have dumped it already.”
Grinning at his best friend wolfishly House replied, “Not a chance. With a few adjustments that baby will make an awesome S and M toy. We’ll patent it and make millions! Of course, we’ll have to test it, both of us taking a turn, to make certain that the final product is up to standard.” He wagged his eyebrows, causing Wilson to laugh and blush at the same time.
“As for the phone calls,” House continued, “you didn’t make them, right?”
“Right.”
“So they have to be able to prove you made them and since you didn’t, they won’t be able to.”
“I have two words for you,” Wilson told him, frowning. “Wrongful conviction.”
“So we’ll call the Innocence Project,” House responded, rolling his eyes. “Quit worrying. You’re only going to aggravate your gastritis.”
“Too late,” Wilson told him. “God, it hurts.”
They reached the gate Porter had told them about. House lowered the window and reached with a long arm and pressed the buzzer button. A few seconds later the gate clanged and slowly opened to allow them passage.
They continued through the gate and toward the service road. Once there both men literally sighed in relief. That was short lived when House looked into his rearview mirror and saw a car turn onto the service road and follow them keeping a constant distance behind them. Wilson noticed House’s frequent glances at the mirror.
“What’s wrong? Is there somebody following us?”
Instead of assuring him that there was nothing to worry about House answered with practiced calm, “Possibly. It could also be a resident of the area using the service road and nothing to worry about.”
They drove a short while longer until they reached an end of the service road. It emptied onto a residential street that was unfamiliar to the driver.
“Which direction?”
“Hell if I know,” Wilson told him tensely. “Turn left. Whatever. Just get us out of here.”
House turned right, watching behind the car in search of the car that had been following them. They reached an intersection with a larger traffic artery and had to stop for a red light. Wilson was busy firing up the GPS system in the dashboard. In the rearview mirror the car that had been behind them turned onto the street and began to gain on them. In the light of the streetlights House recognized the vehicle.
“Shit,” House muttered, his eyes scanning all routes of escape. “It’s a cop. Wilson, which direction?”
“I’ve just about got it, hold on,” was the answer he got. The cop was less than two blocks away from them and closing.
“Can’t hold on,” House insisted, his voice taut. “I need it now!”
“G-got it,” Wilson told him, nodding. “Turn right here. Turn right and then your next left; that takes us to the Interstate westbound.”
House was in the wrong lane. The light turned green and he hit the accelerator and swerved into the turning lane cutting off another car, and turned right, then wove through traffic expertly and turned left at the next set of lights. At first he was certain that they were going to lose the police but when he saw the cop car about a block back House cursed softly. It could be coincidence; the cop car was simply heading in the same direction and wasn’t after them at all. Or it was waiting until they had cleared traffic to begin a pursuit.
“Is it still behind us?” Wilson asked after a few moments. He checked out the side mirror and then turned in his seat, trying to see behind himself. He turned a bit too much and he grimaced, turning white.
House looked sideways at his best friend and frowned. “Just sit still!” House snapped at him. “I can’t drive and help you medically at the same time. Yes, the cop is still back there, but he’s made no move to catch up to us for a while now and his lights aren’t flashing; so-far, so-good. So, we’re heading west. Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Get us out of Atlanta without being chased or arrested and I’ll give you a clue,” Wilson answered, smiling in spite of his obvious apprehension.
House smirked.
Traffic wasn’t heavy-it was the middle of the night after all-but it was steady. As they neared the turn-off the cars between the Jaguar and the patrol car turned off or changed lanes leaving nothing between them. The cops were slowly gaining on them once more. House said nothing to Wilson, not wanting to alert him that the situation was getting dicey again.
House turned off onto the exit leading to the Interstate onramp. The patrol car stayed on his tail. Shit! Play it cool, just play it cool, he thought. Don’t act suspicious. Relax.
They turned onto the onramp and picked up speed in preparation to merge into the interstate traffic. So did the cop. House merged the Jaguar onto the highway, nestling it nicely between two semis before changing lanes to an emptier one in case he had to speed up suddenly.
“We’re still being followed,” Wilson stated, not asked. He swallowed audibly, glancing toward House as if seeking reassurance. House sighed silently; the oncologist could be quite the girl sometimes. He didn’t do well under circumstances like this.
Opening his mouth to speak House paused when he saw the cop changed lanes to end up right behind them again. House set his jaw. It didn’t look good.
When the cop’s lights began to flash and his siren sounded, it looked much worse.
“Oh god,” Wilson moaned, unable to miss the red and blue flashes lighting up the interior of the car. “House, pull over onto the shoulder. I don’t want to get you into trouble with the police. I’m the one who drugged and abducted you; it’s time for me to face the music. Pull over.”
House shook his head. “Bullshit. I’m here now because I want to be; there’s no cock-zapper or knock-out drug keeping me here. I’m not going to hand you over to the cops for a bogus kidnapping charge.” He hit the gas pedal and increased his spread slightly.
“House, you don’t want to try to outrun the cops and start a high-speed chase!” Wilson protested.
“Who says?” House asked. “Could be fun!”
The patrol car was quickly closing the distance between them. House quickly changed to the lane to the right of them to avoid back-ending a slow moving minivan and slowed right down.
“Just pull over!” Wilson insisted just as the patrol car passed the Jaguar and pulled up nearly on the bumper of the minivan. The minivan then headed for the shoulder with the cop on its ass end.
House sighed in relief. His little test had turned out the way he’d hoped. The cop hadn’t been pursuing them. He’d noticed that as the patrol car seemed to be following the Jaguar, the minivan had consistently been in front of them from the moment they had turned off of the service road onto the residential street. It hadn’t occurred to House that the cop might actually have been following the minivan until they had followed the minivan onto the onramp.
“That was…too…too much,” Wilson said, shaking his head and slumping in his seat.
Looking sideways, House noticed the way Wilson was holding his upper abdomen, trembling and looking terribly pale. “Hey, you okay?”
Wilson looked at him with an odd look on his face.
“What?” House demanded.
“Nothing,” the oncologist answered, shaking his head. “I’m just trying to adjust to you asking me how I’m doing and appearing to be genuinely concerned. Don’t get me wrong-it’s good. I’m just not used to it coming from you. You never used to check on me like this. What’s changed?”
House shrugged, waiting a moment or two to answer. “I don’t have to pretend that I don’t love you anymore.”
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