darkdreamer | Moonlight, Chapter 5

Hey, guys, here's the next chapter of Moonlight as well :)

Hope you enjoy it :)

*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 5

The minutes ticked by with interminable slowness as House waited for Wilson to return. The deep throbbing in his leg was only intensified by his knowledge of the long hours he was going to have to endure before Wilson allowed him relief. He measured the passing time by the soap operas on the television – which were somewhat more entertaining than the game shows he’d watched that morning, but would have been far more entertaining if House had been able to focus through the steadily increasing agony.

The only thing that made it even remotely bearable was the knowledge that Wilson would be back when his shift was over.

And how screwed up is it that the highlight of my day is the point when the psychotic lunatic comes back into the room? Which is exactly what he wants… he wants me helpless and dependent on him and so desperate that I’m actually eager for his company…

House’s heart sank, and he was vaguely aware of a bitter wave of self-disgust, even through the pain.

… and it’s working…

When the series of soap operas gave way to late afternoon talk shows, House hated himself for the overwhelming relief he felt at the knowledge that Wilson’s shift had just ended, and he would be home within a few minutes.

Thirty minutes later… he was still not there.

House didn’t really begin to panic until another thirty minutes had passed – and still no sign of Wilson.

His mind began to race with various scenarios which might have kept Wilson from making it home on time. Perhaps he simply had to work late, or had an errand or two to run after work, or was just picking up some dinner because it was one of the two days out of any given year that he didn’t want to cook.

Or maybe he had some new variety of breakdown and forgot I’m even here… or got in a car accident on the way home, and won’t be coming back at all… No one even knows I’m here… no one would even think to look for me if something happened to him…

House’s frantic thoughts only became more and more terrifying as the hours passed in utter, desolate loneliness, punctuated by the pain that kept increasing, kept getting stronger and stronger until he could no longer hold onto a coherent thought for a moment before a fresh spasm of agony drove it away.

He was hungry and desperately thirsty, but neither of those needs seemed to matter in the face of the overwhelming anguish that swallowed up every other sensation. He could no longer hear the television, no longer even wonder what had happened to Wilson. All he was aware of was the pain, as he struggled feverishly, uselessly, against the bonds that held him to the bed, his throbbing leg shifting vainly in a useless attempt to ease the ache as he cried out for help that he already knew would not come.

By the time Wilson finally returned… nearly twenty-four hours had passed since he had gone.

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

Wilson froze for a moment in the doorway, staring in stunned dismay at the miserable sight that met his eyes.

House was lying on the bed in a near-fetal position on his side, his legs drawn up against his stomach, one arm stretched taut over his head by the awkward position of his body. He was shaking so violently that Wilson could clearly see the tremors even from across the room, and his face was coated with the sheen of the sweat that soaked his clothes.

The low, pleading moan that fell from House’s lips tore at Wilson’s heart, and he felt momentarily overwhelmed with guilt and regret for leaving him there to suffer throughout the previous day and night. He blinked away tears as he swiftly crossed the room to House’s side, with a supreme effort fighting to keep back his sympathy for his friend, and keep his hard, unyielding expression in place.

Wilson’s stomach lurched when House flinched violently away from the cautious hand he extended, swallowing back the sick flood of bile that filled his throat at his terrified reaction. He couldn’t stand the idea that House was so afraid of him – and yet, he had reached a troubling conclusion during the second half of his shift the previous day.

In order to gain the full control of the situation he needed, at least for the time being – it was going to be necessary for House to fear him.

It’s hard, yes… unbelievably hard to see him like this… but it’s all going to be for the best… he’s just got to learn...

Wilson knelt at the side of the bed, very near to House’s face, ignoring the way House tensed at his nearness, his breath quickening with apprehension as he drew as far away as his restraints and the agony he was experiencing would allow. Wilson reached out calmly to catch House’s arm, pulling him easily close again, not allowing him the retreat he was seeking.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, House,” he said softly, genuine regret in his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m trying to help you – to keep you from getting hurt.”

He paused as he reached out a gentle hand to brush House’s damp, disheveled hair back away from his face. House flinched, but did not try to pull away from the touch, staring up at Wilson through wide, shell-shocked eyes, and Wilson felt a rising sense of hope at what appeared to be progress, no matter how slight.

“God, House,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “Don’t you know how much it kills me to see you like this – how hard it was to leave you here all night? But… you have to learn. You need to understand that you are not in control, here. I am. I decide when you eat… when you get out of this bed… when you get your Vicodin… You will cooperate and stop resisting me, House… because until you do… as much as it hurts me to say it… you will get nothing from me. Is that clear?”

House’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and his mouth was trembling pitifully as he gasped out, barely able even to form the words. “Y-yes… please… please…”

Wilson felt a strange mixture of relief and horror, because he had never before seen House so desperate as to be so submissive and compliant, and now that he had seen it, he wasn’t so sure it was something he wanted to see.

It can’t be helped, he reminded himself. For the moment, it’s more important that he’s safe than that he’s happy.

Still, Wilson frowned in dismay at the worn, tattered remnants of the bandages on House’s wrists in a moment of indecision – before relenting a bit and unlocking the shackles, allowing House’s tense, weary arms to drop onto the mattress, limp and heavy with agony and exhaustion.

He’s in too much pain… too tired to fight… might as well give him a little relief while we have the chance…

“Come here,” Wilson murmured gently as he placed his arm around House, under his arms, carefully helping him to sit up. “That’s it… good… easy…”

House wasn’t able to help him much, but readily submitted to Wilson’s efforts, struggling to support himself on arms that still would not hold him up. Wilson gently shushed him when a frustrated, pained whimper tore from his throat, running a tender hand through his hair again as he helped him to lean against the headboard.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay… settle down…”

A convulsive swallow was visible in House’s throat as he slowly, deliberately closed his mouth, eyes shut tight, breath rapid and shallow. Wilson wondered uneasily if his reaction was due more to pain or fear.

Neither option was particularly comforting.

Wilson hurried to take the Vicodin bottle from his own pocket, taking out two pills and holding them to House’s mouth with one hand as he reached for the glass of water he had set on the floor beside the bed with the other. House flinched violently away from the touch of his hand, and Wilson fought to suppress the rush of frustrated annoyance that filled him in response to the gesture.

“House…” He spoke in a carefully controlled voice that held a note of warning despite his best efforts. “… it’s just your pills. If you’d open your damned eyes you’d see that.”

House opened his eyes, glancing uncertainly at Wilson before looking down at the pills in front of him. Immediately, his lips parted to accept the pills as Wilson tipped them into his mouth, then raised the glass and held it to his lips. House took a cautious sip of the water – and then immediately reached a shaking, clumsy hand up to clutch at the glass, as his desperate thirst returned to him with a vengeance.

“Easy,” Wilson cautioned him with a soft, surprised laugh. “Not so fast, okay? Slowly…”

Despite his gentle warning, House drained the glass in seconds. Wilson rose to his feet, the empty glass in hand.

“I’ll get you some more,” he offered, taking a step toward the door.

Abruptly, he stopped, frowning in suspicion as he moved back toward the bed, his free hand darting out to grasp House’s hair, roughly yanking his head back and leaning in close, narrowed eyes searching his face. House bit back a gasp of alarm, eyes shut again as Wilson simply stood over him for a moment, caught in his own mental debate.

“If you move from this bed,” he said slowly at last, his words measured and menacing, “you’ll regret it, House. I might not come back for days next time. Do you understand me?”

House nodded with difficulty against Wilson’s hand in his hair, then shook his head slightly, pained eyes meeting Wilson’s as he whispered a breathless response.

“Won’t.” He shrugged slightly, a rueful smile touching his lips as he amended, “Can’t.”

Satisfied that even should House venture to disobey, he would not be able to escape the locked room – not in his current condition – Wilson nodded solemnly and released him before heading for the door. When he returned a few moments later with the refilled glass of water, he was relieved and gratified to find that House had not moved at all. He was sitting up against the headboard, blinking as his thoughts seemed to visibly clear somewhat, his breath calmer and more even now as the mere knowledge that the drugs were about to take effect seemed to ease House’s suffering.

“Here you go,” Wilson murmured as he sat on the edge of the bed. He held the glass to House’s mouth for a moment, smiling when House reached a tentative hand up to steady it. “Do you think you can manage it on your own for a minute?”

House shot him a dirty look – not the kind of horrible, unsettling looks of poorly masked terror he had been giving him lately, but an ordinary of-course-I-can-manage-a-simple-glass-of-water-on-my-own,-idiot kind of look. Wilson smiled, relinquishing the glass to House’s hands as he stood up again.

“I’ll be right back,” he stated softly. “Do not get up. Okay?”

House shook his head around the glass to indicate that he would not, and Wilson watched him for a moment longer before leaving the room again and making his way back to the kitchen. He took a plastic basin from under the sink, filling it with warm water. He stopped by the bathroom on his way back, taking a soft washcloth from the cupboard and tossing it into the basin of water.

Wilson opened the door to the room again, holding the basin under one arm, glancing warily around the door before entering, just in case House might have gathered enough courage to make him foolish. House was still sitting on the bed where Wilson had left him, but he was staring down at the floor beside it with a worried expression, biting his lower lip.

He looked up when Wilson entered to meet his eyes with a trapped, wide-eyed expression of panic that made him look every bit like a little boy afraid he was about to get a spanking. Wilson followed his gaze to the floor, frowning as he noticed that the sheets on the side of the bed were soaked… and suddenly realized the cause of House’s fear.

House had somehow managed to drop the half-full glass of water on the one tiny portion of stone floor left exposed by the area rug that covered most of the room. Shattered bits of glass, dripping with the remains of House’s water, glittered in the light from the tiny window high above them. Wilson returned his gaze to House’s face, silently seeking an explanation.

House was visibly shaken, desperation clear in his wide eyes as he shook his head pleadingly. “Wilson… I know this looks bad, but it was an accident, I swear. Please… I didn’t mean to… my… my hands… my arms… I’m just so… tired, and I… I just dropped it. I didn’t mean to. Please…”

Wilson studied his expression closely, not saying a word as he slowly closed the distance between them. It was indeed suspicious. Had House intended to use the broken glass as a makeshift weapon to take advantage of his brief freedom? It seemed a strange coincidence that the glass had fallen on precisely the one spot in the room where it would have shattered.

However, the helpless panic in House’s eyes was genuine.

Wilson knew him well enough to recognize that.

And… House was exhausted and weak from the terrible day and night he had spent in unrelieved agony.

And whose fault was that? Not House’s fault…

After a moment’s hesitation, Wilson softened, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside House. House automatically flinched, one hand rising shakily as if to ward off a blow. Wilson caught his wrist in a firm but gentle hand, holding it in place until House hesitantly met his eyes, and then slowly, pointedly lowering it to the mattress.

“It’s all right,” Wilson reassured him. “I know you didn’t mean to.” He was quiet a moment before reiterating, wondering how many times he was going to have to say it, “I’m not going to hurt you, House.”

Wilson released House and leaned down to carefully gather the larger pieces of broken glass in his hands. He sighed as he stood up straight, frowning critically at the remaining bits of glass and water on the floor – he would need to return later with a vacuum to clean them up as well – before meeting House’s eyes with a reassuring smile.

“Last time,” he said in a light, casual tone of voice. “Be right back.”

When Wilson returned to find House just where he had left him, his confidence in his decision was confirmed, and he gave House an affectionate, almost grateful smile. He brought the basin to the side of the bed, taking out the washcloth and wringing it out before bringing it to House’s face with careful tenderness.

House tensed, swallowing hard, but did not pull away as Wilson washed his face, his neck, then dipped the cloth back into the basin. Next, Wilson carefully removed the tattered bandages from House’s wrists, cleaning the wounds and bandaging them again. House’s eyes remained downcast, and he was unusually quiet, until Wilson finished the task at hand.

“Th-thank you…”

House ventured to speak in a voice so soft that it was barely audible, and Wilson looked up sharply, stunned by the unexpected words. House’s eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears, relief and gratitude clear in his open, vulnerable gaze. Wilson felt a lump forming in his own throat, and looked away, blinking rapidly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Wilson murmured. “I’m doing this – all of this – because I want to take care of you, House. I… I hope that you’re… starting to understand that.”

House was silent, looking away self-consciously – but Wilson was more than satisfied with the progress it appeared that he had already made. Wilson was particularly gentle as he raised House’s bandaged wrists to put them back into the iron cuffs behind him, relieved and hopeful when House did not resist – did not even offer a word of protest.

Wilson hesitated, considering, and then coming to a decision.

Positive reinforcement… he needs to understand that this is the kind of behavior that gets rewarded…

He reached up toward the shackles again and unlocked House’s left wrist before standing up. House looked up at him in surprise, a single questioning brow raised. His voice was hesitant, uncertain, as he ventured a soft inquiry.

“You… you’re sure about that?”

Wilson smiled, nodding slightly. “There’s nothing within your reach that you can use to escape. Even the bed is bolted to the floor. Your free hand is the one farthest from the wall, so you really can’t even get off the bed.” He shrugged. “I’m not worried. And besides…” He paused, thoughtful, as he added, “… you need to know that… I don’t want to keep you like this… all chained up and… and hurting, and…” He shook his head, a grimace twisting his mouth, a frown creasing his brow. “… I want things to be better for you.”

Wilson hesitated a moment before taking the Vicodin out of his pocket again, twisting it open, then reaching out to take House’s free hand in his. Ignoring House’s bewildered expression, Wilson turned his hand palm up and dumped the remaining contents of the bottle – about a dozen pills – into House’s hand.

House stared up at him, shaking his head in confusion and disbelief.

“I’ve already told you,” Wilson repeated firmly, his confident smile not fading. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I want you to understand that this is not a bad thing. It’s not. I want you to know that things can be very good for you here. As long as you’re cooperative – like you’ve been today – things will be a lot easier for you.”

House studied Wilson’s expression for a long moment, then looked down at the pills in his hand, before meeting Wilson’s eyes again. He gave a slow, solemn nod in response, his voice low and almost reverent.

“Thank you.”

Wilson’s smile widened, his eyes bright and eager, almost childlike. “It’s Saturday,” he announced, “so I can spend the day with you. I’m just going to go make us something to eat and then come right back. Okay?”

House nodded again, silent as Wilson left the room, locking it behind him. He stared at the closed door for a long moment, mentally debating, wondering if Wilson might return unexpectedly. Finally, biting his lip with a slight frown, House slid his free hand cautiously down between the mattress and the wall, stopping when his searching fingers came into contact with something hard and sharp-edged.

He retrieved his prize with a grim smile, staring at it with triumph.

A shard of jagged, broken glass, a little more than an inch long, narrow and razor-sharp.

Glancing anxiously up toward the door again, House quickly replaced his makeshift weapon, making sure to put it far enough down that Wilson would not be able to see it, even if he was sitting on the bed, even if he happened to be sitting against the wall and looking downward. Satisfied that his treasure was well-hidden, House settled back against the headboard to wait for Wilson’s return – and the opportunity he knew would eventually come.

It might not come today, or the next day – but eventually, his chance would come.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

chaoskir.livejournal.com

So I do hope his chance will come. Evil Wilson, very evil. And it's a good thing House sweated a lot. So he didn't has to use the bathroom. Thanks for sharing this moving written new chapter. I do love this mindsick Wilson and your fic.

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Moonlight, Chapter 5

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