darkdreamer | Dark Redux, Part 1.10 -- Histories

Hi, guys :) Got another update in this series as well, which, ironically, while my personal favorite of the moment, seems to have a smaller following than my other two current WIPs. If you are enjoying this fic, please let me know :) Your feedback is always much appreciated, and helps me be motivated to write faster :P hehe

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Dark Redux
Episode: 1.10 -- Histories
Beta:

misanthropicobs
Disclaimer: House, Wilson, and all other characters/ideas taken from the show are not my own, and I'm making no profit from the writing of this fiction -- just for fun, I promise. :P (Some dialogue this chapter taken directly from the episode.)
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: In this particular 'verse, I've changed one thing about the canon timeline. At the beginning of the story, when House and Wilson first get together, Wilson is already recently divorced from Julie.
Story Warnings: slash, dark Wilson eventually -- specific warnings for each chapter as necessary
Chapter Warnings: mild violence
Story Summary: A darker version of how canon might have gone, if House and Wilson had entered into a relationship from the start -- and if that relationship took a gradually dark, disturbing turn.
Chapter Summary: Wilson's interest in House's latest patient causes House -- and Foreman -- to take a closer look at Wilson's past... and that is not something that makes him happy. :(

“The twitch could be a mini-seizure, unrelated to the diabetes.”

“Brain tumor?”

Wilson glanced away from the conversation between Chase and Cameron for a moment as Foreman entered the conference room, resisting the urge he felt to roll his eyes in irritation.

“Glad you could join us, Eric,” House greeted him with sarcastic cheer. “What’s the differential for a twitch in the wrist?”

Foreman seemed about as thrilled to see Wilson as Wilson was to see him. He cast a glare in the oncologist’s direction as he responded. “The patient’s a thirty-ish Jane Doe. I just thought I’d discharge her.”

“Well, she’s my patient,” Wilson snapped. “No harm in a second opinion.”

Wilson was terribly frustrated with Foreman, and his sheer refusal to even consider the possibility that Wilson might be right about the nameless homeless woman he had brought to House’s attention. As far as Wilson was concerned, Foreman had made an instantaneous decision about the patient, and also about Wilson himself, and his medical and personal judgment.

Does he think I’m an idiot? That I’m stupid, or something? That I can’t tell a genuine symptom when I see it? I’ve got more experience than he could dream of having – than he’ll ever have the chance to get if he doesn’t stop looking at me like something he just scraped off the bottom of his shoe…

Despite Foreman’s painfully clear misgivings, the differential continued around him, until he finally blurted out in frustration, “Okay. Why are we on this case? Just because Wilson asked?”

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, indignant, but House spoke before he could.

“Do I need a better reason?”

Foreman glanced between Wilson and House, and suddenly, there was a knowing light in his dark eyes, a slight smirk forming on his lips as understanding seemed to dawn on him. He looked away, shaking his head in amusement, a smirk forming on his lips.

“No, actually, I guess you wouldn’t,” he conceded with another meaningful glance in Wilson’s direction. “I guess these days, that’s all it takes to get anything from you.”

Wilson felt his stomach lurch with a sick sensation of embarrassment and self-consciousness at the knowing look in Foreman’s eyes. Chase and Cameron were frowning with confusion, not quite picking up on the implication of Foreman’s words – but it was clear enough to Wilson, and to House as well, judging from the expression of mingled apprehension and anticipation forming on his face.

He knows… he knows, and if he knows, it won’t be long before others know. This needs to be kept a secret. It’s nobody’s business but ours… but Foreman just can’t seem to resist sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong…

Agitated and self-conscious, Wilson stayed in the room just long enough to keep his reasons for leaving from being too obvious. As soon as he could find a reason to do so, he stalked out of the conference room and made his way back to his office to sit and try to think of a solution to the new problem that had just arisen.

************************

“So what exactly is going on with you two?”

The question fell from Foreman’s lips a bare instant after Chase and Cameron left the conference room to carry out the tests House had ordered. House was standing with his back to Foreman, pouring a cup of coffee. When he spoke, his words were calm and measured, not betraying any emotion – and therefore betraying far more than he wanted them to reveal.

“What exactly are you implying, Foreman?”

Foreman rose to his feet and moved around the table until he could see House’s face, trying to gauge his reaction as he spoke again. “I’m… really not sure. It’s just that lately, the two of you seem a bit… closer than usual. Closer even than best friends usually…”

“My personal life is none of your business,” House cut him off curtly, taking a sip of his coffee to mask his carefully averted eyes. “And if you want my professional life to continue to be any of your business, you’ll stop prodding into things that have nothing to do with you.”

Foreman smirked as he turned and started toward the door. “Yeah,” he replied before stepping out into the hall. “That’s about what I thought.”

**************************

Throughout the rest of the day, it was impossible to miss the mounting tension between Wilson and Foreman every time the patient’s case required them to be in the same room. House suspected, however, that he was likely the only one who knew that it had anything to do with anything besides the patient.

Foreman’s figured out that something’s going on between us… and Wilson can’t stand it. It’s so important to him to keep this a secret… and now Foreman’s threatening that… threatening us… and just when things have been going so well…

The past few weeks had gone by in a blissful, euphoric haze for House and Wilson. Wilson was quite apologetic for the harsh way he had behaved about House’s Vicodin, and seemed to go out of his way afterwards to make it up to House and show him how much he loved him. Miraculously, nothing had happened during that time to cause any new disagreements, and House was utterly unwilling to allow anything to mess things up – not now, when they were finally going so well.

Why does he even feel the need to keep it a secret at all? I’d willingly tell everyone we’re together, but he… he doesn’t want to… and if he doesn’t want to, and now Foreman knows, he’s gonna be in the worst mood known to man…

House spent the entire day with a tight, anxious knot in the pit of his stomach, trying to focus on the patient and not his insecurities and fears about his relationship with Wilson, or Wilson’s insistence upon keeping it a secret. Wilson’s obvious irritation only served to feed House’s fears, but he tried his best not to allow it to affect his work, or the way he presented himself in front of his employees.

Still, he couldn’t help wondering about Wilson’s motivations, both for continuing to insist on keeping the secret, and also for asking him to take this particular patient in the first place. The first chance he had to be alone with Wilson, House tried to press for the answers that he craved, hoping to glean some subtle clue from a tone or a look, though he didn’t expect Wilson to volunteer anything useful on purpose.

If nothing else, House thought that perhaps he might use the issue of the patient’s case to distract Wilson from the deeper issue he had with Foreman at the moment, and possibly ease him out of his foul mood before they made their way home that evening.

“So, you gonna tell me why this case?”

“She’s my new girlfriend, and I’m having a tattoo designed. I was hoping you could find out her name.”

Sarcasm was no less than House had expected. Unfazed, he pressed in a flat, dubious tone, “So she’s just another sick person the kindly Dr. Wilson has made sure doesn’t get lost in the big ugly system.”

“Yes, I forgot,” Wilson snapped. “I need a reason to give a crap.”

A twinge of warning told House that he should have stopped then – but as usual, he ignored it. “You’re giving two craps.”

“House…” Wilson’s tone held a warning edge. “… let it go…”

“I just wonder what it is that makes this woman so special…”

“I said drop it!” Wilson snapped, raising his voice as he stopped and turned to face House, eyes blazing with anger and frustration, before turning and stalking away from him, visibly seething.

House watched him go in helpless confusion, feeling the knot of uncertainty and insecurity tightening in his stomach, as he wondered what he had done wrong this time, why such a small thing could make Wilson so angry with him – and how much more it would take before Wilson would become frustrated and angry enough to write him off entirely.

***********************

Wilson seemed to be avoiding House for the hours that followed. In fact, it was quite by accident that he happened to run into House in an empty exam room later that day, having fully expected him to be overseeing the two young medical students Cuddy had foisted off on him for educational purposes.

House tried to act as if the way Wilson had spoken to him and treated him in the hall earlier – the way he had walked away from him without a second glance – meant nothing to him. He tried to maintain his usual cool, detached façade; but Wilson could clearly see the aching vulnerability in his eyes as he studied Wilson’s face, seeking some subtle sign of reassurance.

Wilson couldn’t withhold it from him – not completely.

He reluctantly stayed a few minutes, as House explained how he was hiding from his two too-eager pupils in order to study Foreman’s file and try to discern the source of his apparent hatred for the homeless. Wilson had to suppress a smile at that, well aware that House’s pointing out an obvious flaw of Foreman’s was a blatant attempt to use Wilson’s current irritation with Foreman to procure Wilson’s favor again. He kept his tone sternly tolerant as he gently scolded House with a weary sigh.

“You really don’t need to know everything about everybody.”

“I don’t need to watch The OC, but it makes me happy.”

“Yeah, delirious.” Wilson frowned with curiosity as he glanced down at the exam table on which House was working. “What’s the other file?”

House glanced up at him, a trapped look of guilt in his eyes, and immediately tried to shift the second file under Foreman’s to conceal it. Wilson took a quick step forward and snatched it out of House’s hand, turning away when House tried to grab it back. He blinked in surprise when he saw his own name on the label, then looked back at House in accusation.

“What is this?” he asked, his voice low and demanding.

“I just… wanted to know what your personal stake in this situation might be, since, clearly, this isn’t just another patient to you.”

Fully aware that he was caught, House explained, still trying to keep his tone light and unconcerned – and failing miserably. He tensed as Wilson took an angry step closer to him, waving the file wildly in his hand as he spoke in a quiet but intense voice, his words clipped and furious.

“You were spying on me? I can’t believe you would do something like that!”

“Then you don’t know me very well, do you?”

“House, this is not funny!” Wilson’s voice was trembling with suppressed rage as he slammed the file down on the table in front of House, leaving his clenched fist resting there so that he was leaning into House’s face. “Some things about me are not your business! Some things are just personal!”

“Oh, so you’re the only one who gets to have secrets?” House shot back, clear resentment in his blazing, defiant eyes. “I get to be your dirty little secret – but I can’t have any of my own. And yet, when it’s something you don’t want me to know, well, that’s just fine!”

“No, I don’t want you to know!” Wilson burst out, his voice raised in fury as he slammed his fist down on the exam table with enough force to make House flinch at the impact. House started to back away from the intensity and nearness of Wilson’s verbal attack, but Wilson grabbed his arm and jerked him back close to him, nearly yelling in his face as he shook him slightly, “Because it has nothing to do with you! It’s none of your business, House. I’ll decide how much I want you to know about me and when, and you will keep the hell out of my personal affairs!”

House winced slightly at the painful grip on his arm, staring into Wilson’s eyes with shock at the violence of his reaction. After a moment, the fury began to fade from Wilson’s face as he seemed to realize the severity of his own actions. House’s pager began to beep, and House slowly, numbly looked down at where it lay on the table before pointedly pulling his arm out of Wilson’s grip and sliding his chair backwards, picking up the pager and putting it in his pocket.

Wilson hung his head, still leaning over the table, with a heavy sigh of defeat.

“House…” he attempted weakly as House headed for the door, knowing already that House would not respond or return.

House avoided Wilson as much as possible for the rest of the day, shying away from any opportunity they might have had to talk about what had happened, making sure that he was constantly surrounded by his team so that Wilson would not have the chance to corner him and apologize. When the case forced them to be in the same room together, House was cool and withdrawn with Wilson, refusing to meet his eyes or speak with him about anything not directly related to the case.

That was why later that night, when Wilson was sitting alone in the last spot where he had seen his missing brother, he was stunned to see House approach him and silently take a seat beside him on the concrete overhang. Both men were silent for a long time, both aware that there was much that needed to be said between them, but neither quite sure where to begin.

House, as was often the case, was the first to speak, and with harsh honesty.

“I’m not sure I even want to be talking to you right now.”

Wilson glanced up at him before shrugging slightly. His hands pressed into his pockets in feigned disinterest, he observed flatly, “You picked a kind of inconvenient place to go to not talk to me, then.”

“You had no right to talk to me the way you did today,” House stated quietly. “Or to… to touch me that way. No right whatsoever.”

Wilson was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his words seemed to bear no relevance to House’s statement.

“I have two brothers.”

House frowned, puzzled by the shift in the conversation, as well as by the new information. “I’ve met your family. I only met one brother. Why wouldn’t you tell me…?”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Why?” House demanded, shaking his head.

“Because he’s not in my life anymore,” Wilson answered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and some other indiscernible emotion. “This was the last place I saw him, nine years ago. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

House stared at Wilson for a long moment, taking in his tear-filled, downcast eyes, the slight shaking of his huddled shoulders, and the trembling of his lower lip before he bit it to still it. He said nothing, simply considering Wilson’s words, weighing their importance, and waiting for Wilson to go on – because he was clearly not finished.

At last, Wilson looked up at House, tentatively reaching out a hand to rest on his leg. House tensed slightly at the touch, remembering the much less gentle way that Wilson had touched him last time – but he did not pull away. Wilson urgently sought House’s gaze, waiting until House reluctantly looked him in the eye to speak again in a low, trembling, utterly repentant voice.

“I know I had no right to talk to you that way, House – and no right to – to hurt you. I’m so sorry. But… but seeing that woman today… Victoria… and knowing… knowing how damned eager Foreman was to just… just dismiss her and send her back out on the street to die…”

Wilson shook his head, lowering his gaze to his lap as he struggled for composure, then looking up again, his face streaked with tears as he shifted closer to House.

“All I could think about was my brother, and… and wondering if he… if he’s all right, or… or sick… or out of his mind with some… some drug or disease or…” Wilson’s voice failed him momentarily, and he swallowed back a sob before struggling forward. “I’m sorry, House. It had nothing to do with you, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, but… but I just couldn’t… couldn’t take it… couldn’t stand the… the wondering, and the helplessness, and… I’m sorry…”

Wilson’s shoulders shook as fresh sobs overcame him, and he added in a desperate, desolate whisper, “I’m just so sorry, House…”

House sat there for a long moment, watching Wilson’s tears, torn between his desire to hold his ground and make it clear to Wilson that he did not take lightly his earlier actions – and his need to reach out and let Wilson know that he was forgiven, and understood, and loved.

For once, Wilson needed him – and it was a feeling that House found himself wanting desperately to hold onto.

With an awkwardness born of inexperience, House cautiously reached out a hand to rest on Wilson’s shoulder, allowing his other arm to slide around Wilson’s waist and urge him gently closer. Wilson gratefully complied, resting his head on House’s shoulder as his tears consumed him; and House raised a halting, uncertain hand to rest on the back of Wilson’s head… and then to slowly, gently run through his hair.

“It’s okay,” he whispered at last, his own voice thick with emotions he couldn’t quite define. “It’s okay, Wilson… it’s okay..."

TBC...