darkdreamer | Moonlight, Chapter 4

Hi, guys :)

Here's the next chapter of my crazy!wilson, captive!house story, Moonlight :P Things get yet darker here, and harder on our poor hero :P Hope you enjoy it nevertheless :)

*hugs*
DoS

Title: Moonlight
Beta:

andi88
Pairing: none really, House/Wilson friendship, some House/Cuddy friendship
Rating: PG-13 to R in places
Warnings: violence, scary themes, disturbing subject matter
Summary: Following Amber's death, House is afraid that Wilson will never be able to forgive him -- but Wilson's real reaction is far more frigthtening and disturbing than he ever would have expected. Wilson wants to hold on to the only meaningful relationship left in his life -- by any means necessary.

Chapter 4

Halfway through the morning, House found himself faced with a new problem.

The need to use the bathroom hit him at about the same time the Vicodin began to wear off, and that familiar throbbing ache began to return to his leg. Over the course of the next couple of hours, with nothing to draw his attention except the mindless game shows on the television, House’s desperation gradually increased until he was not sure which need was greater – only that Wilson could not return soon enough.

A tiny part of his mind not consumed with those basic needs quietly warned him against that unintentional hope.

That’s what he wants… for me to want him to come back… for me to get to the place where I depend on him for every little thing, and he becomes my entire world…

House gave a futile, frustrated tug on the shackles that held his sore wrists in place, before collapsing against the headboard in defeat.

In a way, though… I’m already there…

House felt a tremendous surge of relief at the sound of the door opening – immediately followed by a sense of furious irritation at himself for said relief. He turned his eyes stonily away from the eager, hopeful expression on Wilson’s face, his jaw set with a momentary foolish determination not to let Wilson see how desperately he had been awaiting his return.

The affection in Wilson’s eyes faded into cold, restrained anger as he tossed the fast food bag he had brought down onto the table near the bed. He then moved to the side of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared down at House with a single brow raised in speculation. House stubbornly refused to look at him, as the two of them remained locked in a silent stand-off for a long moment.

When Wilson turned without a word and walked out of the room again, House’s stomach lurched with panic. The door closed firmly before he could overcome his surprise enough to speak, and he felt his mouth go dry, his brow breaking out in a cold sweat of sick fear at the thought that Wilson had left him again.

“Wilson?” he called out, hating the uncertain tremor in his voice. Despite the fact that Wilson had told him the room was soundproof, House couldn’t resist the need to call out in frustrated desperation, “Wilson!”

There was no response.

House was blinking back tears of sheer frustration and despair – which only served to anger him further – when the door opened again, and Wilson leaned against the doorway, watching him with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Did you need something?”

House’s mouth twisted in bitter resentment at Wilson’s cruel question, and he looked away, his eyes focused on the wall beside him as he muttered under his breath.

“Bastard.”

Wilson’s mouth twitched slightly, anger flashing briefly in his eyes, but his smile did not fade as he stood up straight, one hand reaching for the door.

“I guess that’s a no…”

“Wait.”

Wilson lowered his hand, a patiently expectant expression on his face as he complied.

House’s voice was low and hoarse, and he did not shift his gaze from the blank expanse of the wall beside him as he reluctantly confessed to his own weakness.

“I need my pills. And… unless you’re looking forward to washing the sheets every day, several times a day… you’d better figure out a way for me to use the bathroom.”

Wilson frowned, hesitating, and House realized that he had possibly discovered the first glaring error in Wilson’s master plan. Apparently, Wilson had not considered this particular problem. House met Wilson’s eyes at last, latching onto the tiny shred of a weakness he had found.

“Not to mention the fact that I’ll eventually need to bathe, at some point. You can’t just leave me chained here indefinitely, Wilson. I mean…” He paused, a sly hint of a smirk forming around the corners of his mouth as he concluded with false innocence, “… I’m sure you’ve considered all that, of course. I’d just… like you to clue me in…”

Wilson’s eyes narrowed at the glaring sarcasm in House’s voice, his mouth tightening with irritation.

“If you try anything,” he warned softly, slowly crossing the room to stand beside the bed, then leaning over to reach for the shackles, “I’ll drug you before you can move. I’ve thought this through very well, House, and there is no way that you can get away. Is that clear?”

House nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. Just hurry up. The situation’s getting a little desperate here.”

Wilson unfastened House’s right wrist, then gently pushed his shoulder forward so that his back was to Wilson, keeping a tight grip on his free wrist the entire time. A moment later, House felt cold metal close around his wrist, and his heart sank as he realized what Wilson intended. Keeping hold of the handcuffs with one hand, Wilson unfastened the shackle from House’s left wrist and drew it behind his back as well, locking his wrists together a little too tightly.

“Okay,” Wilson murmured, turning House around again and wrapping an arm under his shoulders to help him stand. Suddenly, he stopped, frowning thoughtfully. “Wait. Just a second.”

House took immediate notice of Wilson’s unusual uncertainty, but was not sure whether that development should be a source of hope or fear. It was possible that, when faced with the practical weaknesses of his plan, Wilson would reconsider and give it up and set him free.

It was also possible that he would have a violent, mad breakdown that ended with one or both of them dead.

House had no way of knowing. He had no experience with this particular brand of crazy.

Wilson walked away for a moment, opening a drawer in the dresser across the room and taking something out before returning to House’s side. House’s eyes widened with dismay when he saw the thick, dark cloth Wilson was winding between his hands into a single strip. He shook his head, drawing back against the wall in a doomed attempt to evade Wilson’s hands.

“House…” Wilson’s tone was warning. “You really don’t want to resist. Frankly… you don’t have a chance in hell of winning this.”

“No.” House stubbornly refused, turning his head away.

“Fine. Then I’ll just chain you back up and go back to work.”

House froze, biting his lip in frustrated indecision. After a few tense moments, his shoulders sagged in defeat, and he lowered his head slightly with a sigh. Wilson visibly relaxed as well, and House took some meager satisfaction in the realization that Wilson was clearly relieved by his submission.

Not so sure what you would have done if I’d refused, are you?

Nevertheless…House’s rising desperation made refusal a non-option by this point.

House kept carefully still as Wilson bound the cloth around his eyes, tying it tightly behind his head. He put his arm around House again, helping him to stand and patiently waiting until he had gained steady footing.

“Good,” Wilson murmured, watching carefully for any obstacles as he led House toward the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you. I just… want to be sure you don’t… get any ideas about making a break for it, or starting something.” He paused, clearing his throat self-consciously before pointing out, “Those things are a little harder when you can’t even see where you’re going.”

House felt his face flush with shame at the reminder of his own helplessness. His humiliation was only intensified when he felt Wilson’s hands unfastening his jeans and guiding him into position in front of the toilet. House couldn’t bring himself to speak, feeling violated and vulnerable with Wilson as witness to one of his most personal moments.

He was silent as Wilson led him back through the house to the tiny bedroom and helped him sit down on the bed again. Wilson wisely left the blindfold in place as he removed the handcuffs and replaced them once more with the shackles attached to the wall. However, after a moment’s reconsideration, he unfastened House’s left hand again, and then removed the blindfold.

House blinked, frowning against the light… then glaring balefully at Wilson as his face came into focus before him. He snatched the fast food bag out of Wilson’s outstretched hand, his eyes downcast as he reluctantly inspected its contents, feeling irritation rather than gratitude when he found a Reuben sandwich made to his specifications inside.

Wilson didn’t seem to notice, smiling, clearly pleased with himself.

“I know what you like,” he remarked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re my biggest fan, aren’t you, Annie?” House sneered. “What’s next? You going to grind up addictive drugs in my food to make me more dependent on you? Hobble me so I can’t get away?”

Wilson’s smile faded in an instant, and he rose abruptly to his feet. House watched with rising apprehension as hurt and defensive fury filled Wilson’s eyes. His body tensed as he found himself backing up against the wall, watching warily as Wilson’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Wilson glared down at him, visibly wrestling with his own anger.

House couldn’t suppress a flinch, expecting a blow as Wilson braced his fists on the bed on either side of House, leaning into his face with a cold, taut smile on his lips. Wilson waited until House hesitantly met his gaze to speak in a dangerously soft tone, deliberately cruel words that made House wince with shame and hurt.

“Both of those options seem a little redundant… don’t they, House?”

Without waiting for House’s reaction, Wilson stood up straight and swept the fast food bag, sandwich and all, off onto the floor. House reached toward it automatically, letting out an indignant sound of protest as Wilson grabbed his wrist roughly and forced it back into the shackle behind him. Without a word of explanation, Wilson turned and stalked toward the door.

“Wait!” House objected, his voice trembling with alarm. “Wilson… you can’t just leave me like this! I need my pills!”

“You don’t really need more than two Vicodin in nine hours, House.” Wilson spat the words out in furious disgust from the doorway, turning to glare at House in clear resentment. “You can wait.”

He shut the door on House’s pleading protest, locking it behind him – leaving House alone in helpless, panicked desperation.

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

Cuddy’s heart was heavy and troubled as she made her way slowly up the sidewalk to House’s door, her mind slowly replaying the words of the letter she had found in her inbox.

How could he just leave? Without saying anything? Without any warning at all?

Of course, when she really thought about it, it was not beyond the scope of reality that House might just take off if he felt like it, without letting anyone know. He placed little stock in conventional rules when it came to friendships and other relationships. Cuddy tried to rationalize away the hurt, bereft emotions that filled her at the thought that he was actually gone.

Surely he would have told me himself… said goodbye. Surely he valued our friendship that much…

A worried frown creased her brow as she reached House’s door and found it standing open. Hope that House might not have left town yet mingled with apprehension at the fact that the apartment was obviously not secured. She gave a soft, tentative knock on the door, peering anxiously around it into the apartment.

“Hello? Anybody here?”

Her heart sank immediately when she saw that it was utterly bare of any furniture, or the various personal belongings she could clearly visualize in the places where they had been. In the kitchen, she could see a young woman in a uniform wiping down the counters. As she cautiously approached, the woman looked up, giving her a hesitant smile.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m… looking for Gregory House? He lives… or… lived… here?”

The young woman shook her head, giving Cuddy a blankly apologetic look. “I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a slight shrug. “All I know is that this apartment is vacant. I’m just cleaning it up so the owner can show it and rent it again.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cuddy felt numb as the cleaning lady’s words sank in. She slowly turned toward the door again, calling softly over her shoulder, “Thank you.”

She made her way to her car, her mind reeling with the reality of the fact she had just confirmed.

House was gone.

I know Wilson meant a lot to him… I worried about how he’d react when he found out Wilson was leaving… but… I never expected him to leave, just because Wilson left…

She frowned, troubled as she considered the general strange-ness of the situation.

… or to leave me such a well-put, professional letter of resignation, for that matter. And it’s so strange that he’d actually move home with his parents. I didn’t think he got along with them that well. It’s just… not like him…

She sighed as she started her car and headed back toward the hospital, trying to ignore the burning sensation behind her eyes, blinking away the blurry sheen that momentarily obstructed her vision.

But then… it is just like House to just take off… to do whatever it is that people would least expect him to do. He takes pride in shocking as many people as he can, as often as he can… so who am I to think that I can predict his actions?

Cuddy tried to put the stunning situation out of her mind, mentally preparing herself for the rest of the work day she had yet to complete. As she parked her car and headed toward her office, she allowed herself one final fleeting thought, filled with concern and affection for the man who had unintentionally become such an important part of her life over the last few years.

I just hope he’s okay… and that someday, I’ll see him again...

TBC...

Current Mood: anxious

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

chaoskir.livejournal.com

Oh Cuddy, please!! Do something! Investigate! Please! House is hanging as like as Bob *shows to dreamsofspike's new icon.

Btw. poor Bob. It was just a cookie *cry* Just a cookie!

Thanks for the great new chapter. I do love this fic.

From:

Moonlight, Chapter 4

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