darkdreamer

Hi, guys :)

Well, sorry to have been away for so long, I wasn't expecting to be, but we got a major ice storm here. Our electricity is still out, our phones are out, and my internet is out! :P I'm making this point in the middle of the night from a friend's house where me and my niece are spending the night, because they actually have heat, hot water, etc. :P

Hope you guys enjoy this update, please let me know. At the moment, I could use the positive feedback :P

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Dark Redux
Episode: 1.13 -- Cursed
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: 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: House tries to make up to Wilson for his "crime" of taking Cameron on their quasi-date, but Wilson is not terribly forgiving at the moment.

“Need a consult.”

House barely glanced at the patient Wilson was examining, peering around the exam room door in impatient expectation as he waited for Wilson’s response. It was not long in coming, but it was disappointing. Wilson’s voice was cool, detached, as if he might have been speaking to any of his other dozens of coworkers.

“With a patient.”

“Urgent doctor stuff.”

House persisted, his tone light and playful, though his stomach was churning with the cold, sick feeling of apprehension created by Wilson’s cold, uncaring tone. He held his head high, turning and striding out of the room with an expectant, confident air, as if he fully expected that Wilson would follow, as he had done dozens of times before; but for the first time, he was not certain that Wilson would do so.

And for the first time – Wilson didn’t.

The clear rejection stung, but House found that he could not bring himself to simply walk away and accept it. He turned back toward the exam room, opening the door again and going inside this time.

“What, urgent doctor stuff means nothing to you?” he said in a lightly accusing tone. “Someone could be dying while you’re standing here wasting time on a… what was wrong with you again?” He addressed the confused patient with a puzzled, distracted frown.

“Unexplained shortness of breath and bleeding from my…um…” The patient allowed his voice to trail off, looking away in awkward embarrassment.

“Okay, so you might be dying, too,” House conceded with a careless shrug, ignoring the patient’s startled look of alarm. “Someone else could be dying. I need you, Wilson.”

“Well, I don’t need you, House,” Wilson replied in a calm, even voice, without even glancing at House. “I told you, I’m busy. Please go away now.”

House blinked, but tried not to show how deeply Wilson’s words stung. He squared his shoulders, his jaw clenching with repressed anger born of his hurt, as he made one last valiant effort.

“So you’re going to take a chance on my patient dying while you’re wasting time with someone who’s – not my patient – just because you’re mad at me right now? That’s hardly very ethical of you, is it, Dr. Wilson?”

“I’m not wasting time, House,” Wilson replied, his tone betraying no emotional reaction to House’s accusation. “And I’m not doing it because I’m mad at you.” Finally, Wilson met House’s eyes for a moment – and the cold, detached look in his dark eyes made House’s heart ache with loneliness and disappointment. “I’m doing it because a.) I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out just fine without me; and b.)… because I really don’t like you very much at the moment, House, and I have no desire to waste any of my valuable time on you. Now please get out.”

Even Wilson’s patient, who had every reason to be irritated with House, gave a sympathetic grimace at Wilson’s harsh words, looking down uncomfortably and avoiding eye contact with either doctor.

House felt his face flaming with the humiliation of Wilson’ public rejection, and he stared down at the floor for a long moment, swallowing hard as he processed what had just happened, then nodded once in silent resignation. Without another word of protest, he turned and walked out of the exam room, leaving Wilson to his patient.

I’ve blown it completely. He hates me now. He hasn’t spoken to me since last night – and he doesn’t seem likely to do so in the near future. It’s over. I’ve lost him. I knew I would eventually; I just… thought it would take a little longer than this. It’s really… really over.

Feeling dejected and hurt and utterly alone, House trudged toward his office, for once deliberately focusing on the pain in his throbbing leg as a blessed distraction from the swelling ache building in his chest.

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

Though it never quite eclipsed the cold sensation of loss in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of Wilson, and his absence in the otherwise ordinary routine of his day, it became gradually easier throughout the day for House to focus on his ever more painful leg.

He had spent the night on the couch – not because Wilson had refused to share the bed with him, but because he had not been able to bring himself to venture into the bedroom after Wilson’s angrily fuming retreat. Rather than risk facing Wilson’s wrath – or worse, the simple cold disgust that had been the last look in his dark eyes – House had opted to take the extra blankets from the closet and make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa for the night.

The result was the resentful protest his leg was giving him today.

House was sitting at the table in the conference room, alone, awaiting the return of his team with news about his patient, when he saw a dark, angry form stalking down the hallway toward him. With irritation, he recognized his patient’s father, and returned his attention to the game boy in his hands, hoping vainly that the man would simply walk on by.

He didn’t.

House tried to evade the man’s attention, locking him out of the conference room before he could enter, but was unable to reach his office door before the other man, who entered even angrier than he had been before.

“You’re being funny?” His tone was accusing, outraged – and vaguely threatening.

“Apparently not.” House shrugged, feigning unconcern.

The man continued to speak, going on and on about how much money he donated to the hospital, and how much special treatment to which that entitled him, and something about his carpal tunnel syndrome – none of which mattered to House all that much at the moment, with his mind so preoccupied with much more important and troubling matters.

“Fascinating story,” he snapped, making no effort to conceal his impatience. “You thought of adapting it for the stage?”

Indignant, the father took an angry step into House’s space. “I love my – look at me!” he demanded, stepping into House’s way as he moved to walk past him. “I love my son, love him more than anything else in the world, and you’re going to start paying attention to this case, or I’m going to make things miserable for…”

“Go back to your son’s room.”

House tensed at the man’s advance, wary and ready to react should the man’s vocal fury become physical, even as he glanced down at his vibrating pager and issued the quiet, calm command.

Shaking his head stubbornly, the other man insisted, “I’m not leaving here until you get your ass in gear…”

“There’s a problem.”

House clarified, meeting the man’s eyes briefly, then taking advantage of his stunned silence to walk past him, out of his office and toward the patient’s room – too preoccupied to notice Wilson watching from a partially open doorway across the hall.

The patient’s father started to follow after a moment, but was abruptly stopped when someone grabbed his arm from behind, and he was spun around to face another doctor, one he recognized vaguely, but couldn’t quite place. A puzzled, wary frown formed on his face at the look of dark fury in the other man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor spoke with unsettling calm, a frigid smile on his lips. “From where I stood, it almost looked as if you were… threatening Dr. House. Surely that wasn’t what was happening… was it?”

“It’s none of your business,” he muttered, jerking away from Wilson’s grasp.

Wilson caught his arm and pulled him around again, ignoring the man’s indignantly parted lips, ready to speak in outrage at the manhandling to which he was being subjected.

“On the contrary, it is,” Wilson pointed out, still completely calm, still smiling. “If a patient thinks he can just walk into this hospital and threaten hospital staff because he happens to have donated a substantial amount of money to it – well, then none of us doctors are safe, are we?”

The patient’s father finally had the grace to look somewhat chagrined at the knowledge of exactly what it was he had been in the process of doing.

“I just want to make it clear to you,” Wilson continued, his tone disconcertingly pleasant. “If this… incident were to become public… if… someone were to report it to the hospital authorities… well, you wouldn’t have to worry about making your substantial donations anymore, because this hospital would own you. Considering that they’d have the word of at least one eyewitness to the threat in question – namely myself – and possibly others, you wouldn’t stand a chance in court. Do I make myself understood?”

The expression on the other man’s face shifted between fury and uncertainty, as he visibly struggled to decide how he should respond to Wilson’s words – and then wisely opted not to respond to them at all.

“My son is sick,” he stated in a flat tone of defeat. “Dr. House is treating him, so I don’t think I’ll be acting on whatever threats you think you heard. Now, if you’ll excuse me – I’ve got higher priorities than this conversation at the moment.”

Wilson watched through narrowed, speculative eyes as the man stalked away – and wondered if he would have to follow up on the conversation later. He shook his head as he turned and walked away, irritated with himself for the instinctively protective reaction he always seemed to have whenever House was threatened – no matter how angry he happened to be with House at the moment.

It doesn’t matter what he does or how big an ass he is, he decided with a sigh of resignation. He’s mine, and I love him, and I’ll never be able to stay away for long. His jaw set with determination as he reached his office, trying to strengthen his resolve. Just for… long enough. Long enough to make sure he knows that I’m not going to put up with his crap. He wants to be with me, he’s going to have to learn to treat me with the respect I deserve.

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

An hour later, House stood just inside Wilson’s office, staring at him in a prolonged moment of awkward, tense silence, as Wilson looked up at him from behind his desk with cool expectancy. At last, Wilson shook his head in a gesture of false confusion, one eyebrow raised dubiously.

“Can I… help you… with something?”

“Just… stop this crap, okay?” House’s tone was impatient and frustrated, and tinged with a slightly pleading whine. “I’m sorry. I told you that already…”

“Several times,” Wilson agreed with a distracted nod, returning his attention to the work on his desk.

“What the hell is it gonna take?” House demanded, moving to stand directly in front of Wilson’s desk in a bid to regain his attention. “What else do you want from me? I’ve apologized, I’ve tried to explain to you how it happened, but nothing’s good enough. I don’t know what you want me to do…”

With a defeated sigh, Wilson tossed his pen down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, giving House a lightly speculative look. Almost against his will, a grudging half-smile began to form on his lips as he relented in a quiet, soft voice.

“I know, House. I know you didn’t know about Cameron, not until you got to the show. And I know that you won’t do it again. You are trying really hard to make this up to me…”

“I am,” House agreed, an urgency in his voice that sent a shock of arousal through Wilson, with the knowledge of the power he held that no one else did – to draw such genuine emotion from House’s secret stores. “I’m trying. I really am…”

Wilson shrugged as he pushed his chair back away from his desk with one foot, giving House a slow, appreciative up-and-down look. “I don’t know,” he mused, his lips twitching slightly with amusement. “Maybe you should… try just a little harder…”

House’s expression faded into a solemn look of understanding and devotion, mingled with a powerful desire that left Wilson breathless. Without another word, House moved with slow, deliberate purpose until he stood beside Wilson’s chair, behind his desk, leaning his cane against it – then dropped to the floor with a faint grimace of pain as his knees impacted with the plastic guard that ran under Wilson’s desk.

Wilson’s brow creased in concern at House’s pain, and he started to sit up straighter in his chair, reaching out a hand toward him. “House… are you…?”

His words broke off in startled surprise when House took his chair and turned it sharply toward him so that Wilson was facing him, all the while staring intently up into the younger man’s eyes. Even as he shifted, somewhat awkwardly and painfully, nearer to Wilson, his hands reaching out to run along the top of Wilson’s pants before meeting in the middle at his zipper, House never broke eye contact with his reluctant lover.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion he rarely allowed himself to reveal. Then, in a halting, uncertain voice, glancing away for an instant before returning his almost shy gaze to Wilson, he added, “I… I love you. I… don’t want to lose you.”

Wilson’s expression softened, as he lowered his hand to cup the back of House’s head in a gentle gesture of affection. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he confessed softly. “That’s all this is, House. I just… can’t stand the thought of someone… coming along and… and taking you away from me. I just don’t want to lose you, ever…”

House bit his lip for a moment, shaking his head as he finally assured him in a tone of firm conviction, “Never gonna happen.”

And House proceeded to show Wilson his devotion, willingly submitting himself for the other man’s pleasure, lavishing his affection on him in slow, lingering caresses of his mouth that urged him gradually onward with torturous leisure, drawing out his pleasure and desire to a near fever pitch. Wilson’s hand stayed in House’s hair throughout, playing slowly, idly through the thin strands at first, then gradually tightening as his urgency built within him, until his head fell back and he was gasping for breath, desperate for release.

“House… God, House… please…”

A moment later, House brought him to his completion, and Wilson collapsed in his chair, thoroughly sated. House relaxed against him as well, his hands clutching Wilson’s waist in desperate, silent pleading for reassurance, his head resting against Wilson’s stomach. As he slowly recovered his senses, Wilson raised trembling arms to return his embrace, one hand cupping his head in a subtly possessive gesture of acceptance and reassurance, the other running slow, soothing lines up and down House’s back.

“It’s all right,” Wilson whispered, leaning down to press a tender kiss to the top of House’s head. “I forgive you… It’s all right…”