darkdreamer | Moonlight, Chapter 6

Hey, guys :)

Here's the latest chapter of Moonlight... looking forward to your thoughts on the story and where it's heading... hope you enjoy :)

*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 6

Wilson returned nearly an hour later, carrying a large tray with two glasses and two plates on it. House swallowed hard, torn between his pride and the tempting fragrance wafting from the steaming food on the plates, before remembering that he had a plan – a plan which allowed him to accept Wilson’s culinary offering with gratitude, and to let himself show that gratitude as well.

Wilson had to believe that House was coming around to his way of thinking.

House noticed that Wilson provided him with a fork with which to eat, but had deliberately prepared a pasta dish that did not require the use of a knife. Their drinks had been poured into plastic cups; Wilson probably did not want to take a chance on losing another of his glasses to House’s clumsiness.

And after all…House only had one hand to work with.

Wilson pulled a chair from across the room to the side of House’s bed, taking the remote control from the top of the television before moving to sit down. He handed the remote control to a very surprised House, who took it with a slow, wary motion, staring down at it in something akin to wonder, before looking up at Wilson again with cautious suspicion.

“Go ahead,” Wilson encouraged him with a nod and a smile. “I want things to be… as close to normal as possible, you know? And eventually… eventually… actually normal. So go ahead. We’ll watch whatever you want.”

House really didn’t care much what they watched at the moment, but he needed Wilson to think that he was grateful for the gesture. Giving Wilson a hesitant smile, House changed the channel a few times until he came to a rerun of the Jerry Springer show. He momentarily reconsidered his choice – Last thing Wilson needs right now is an hour full of people that make even his level of madness look normal – but then decided that it was both mindless and distracting enough to allow him to quietly plan his escape without attracting too much of Wilson’s attention.

After a few moments, Wilson let out a quiet huff of derisive laughter and made some comment about the results of inbreeding, and House responded with a laugh out of sheer habit, momentarily forgetting his situation.

For just a moment, the illusion of normality seemed real – and for a moment longer, House desperately wanted to allow himself to be deceived by it.

No… can’t, not even for a moment… because if you start doing that, then you’ll never get out of here…

House glanced uneasily at his remaining stash of Vicodin, laid out on the comforter beside his leg. There were ten of them left, enough to last him another day, maybe – if he was careful.

And when they’re gone… then Wilson has complete control over my pain again… could have it before that, if he decides to take these back…

House’s expression darkened, and his thoughts turned again to the piece of broken glass stashed between his mattress and the wall. His jaw set with stubborn determination as he glanced again at Wilson, whose attention was, for the moment, focused on the inane entertainment offered by the television. House’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked away, not wanting Wilson to turn and accidentally catch the expression on his face.

After yesterday, though… if he does try to take them… he’s going to have a hell of a fight on his hands…

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

Wilson tried to pretend that everything was normal as they ate their dinner together – but it was difficult, given House’s visible apprehension of him, the way he kept casting anxious glances in Wilson’s direction every few seconds… and the rather overpowering odor that filled the room, nearly overwhelming the smell of the food he had prepared and reminding Wilson of how long House had already spent chained to that wall.

Wilson fought back a wave of guilt at the realization that the night House had spent without his Vicodin, with only his pain for company, had certainly intensified the sick, stale odor of sweat that was now so potent in the room. House’s senses had probably adjusted to it as it had gotten progressively worse, but Wilson was acutely aware of it, and knew that he had to do something about it.

“You stink, House,” he informed his friend at last with a sigh of resignation. “I think you’re overdue for a bath.”

House opened his mouth as if to speak, and Wilson could almost hear the sharp retort on his lips – but it never came. After a moment, House closed his mouth again, restricting himself to a single raised brow that seemed to ask a sarcastic, accusing question.

And whose fault is that?

“I’d… like to change your bedding, too… might make you a little more comfortable,” Wilson continued, not quite looking at House in his guilty unease. He was quiet for a moment before forcing himself to meet House’s eyes, searching for any tiny trace of a response as he went on in a quiet, leading voice.

“It’s just… I’m not sure I can trust you that much yet.”

House held his gaze for a long moment, swallowing hard, his expression solemn. Finally he spoke, his voice quiet and intent, his trembling fingers nervously toying with the edge where the comforter met the wall.

“I… I’m not going to try anything, Wilson. I’m not going to try to get away.” He hesitated, his gaze downcast as he added, “I understand that you’re… you’re just trying to protect me, and… I won’t fight you anymore. Okay?”

It was Wilson’s turn to be skeptical, his eyebrows raised dubiously as he took in House’s words. “Right,” he drawled after a moment, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair as he gave House a speculative look through narrowed eyes. “You’re just… giving up. That easily.”

House was silent, just steadily returning his gaze with a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

Wilson’s smile faded as he rose to his feet, anger smoldering in his chocolate gaze as he took a measured, meaningful step toward the bed. House tensed, drawing back slightly against the wall, wary eyes following Wilson’s every movement. Wilson ignored House’s fearful reaction, leaning over the bed and grasping a handful of House’s hair to prevent his retreat. His voice was low, cold and menacing, as he spoke with clear certainty.

“No. You have never given up on anything that easily in your life, House. And you expect me to believe that you’re just accepting this without a fight now?” He shook House slightly by the hair, ignoring the way House flinched and bit his lip to hold back a cry at the painful motion. Wilson’s voice was nothing more than an angry mutter as he demanded, “Just how much of an idiot do you think I am?”

“I d-don’t,” House stammered, his words rushed and uneven, his eyes closed against the threat so near to him. “It’s not that. I… I don’t like this, Wilson… of course I don’t… but… but what choice do I have?”

House opened wide, apprehensive eyes to meet Wilson’s suspicious gaze as he explained in a trembling voice.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop you. You can do… w-whatever the hell you want to me. I know that. I’m not stupid. So… so what am I supposed to do besides just… just let you do this?”

Wilson’s expression softened slightly as he considered House’s words, waiting for him to go on. A flash of near-panic crossed House’s face, and he swallowed hard before continuing in a hushed voice of sick fear.

“I… I can’t go through a… another night like last night, Wilson. I can’t. I’ll do what you say. I won’t fight. I swear it… if… if only for that reason. I… couldn’t take that again…”

Wilson couldn’t help but feel guilty at the reminder of the cruel measures to which he had resorted in order to gain House’s submission.

But it worked, didn’t it? At least… it really looks like it worked…

“I… I want you to trust me, Wilson,” House went on, his eyes lowered, his voice subdued. “I know now that that’s the only way… only way that… things will change… get better. I just have to… do what you say and… and prove to you that you can trust me… and eventually… things will be better…”

Wilson felt a rush of exultation at House’s words – an echo of his own hopes, in House’s voice.

Yes… yes, it’s working… it’s working!

“Right,” Wilson murmured, nodding in reassurance, his stance softening as his fist in House’s hair became a gentle caress. “That’s right, House. You’re really starting to understand…”

House nodded in response, his shoulders sagging with relief as a deep, shaky breath fell from his lips. His free hand, which had stilled under Wilson’s assault, resumed its nervous fidgeting with the edge of the bedcover as he leaned back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he gradually caught his breath.

“I’ll have to blindfold you again,” Wilson informed House gently. “It’s too soon for you to get familiar with the rest of the house. And…I’ll have to cuff you. I can’t take any chances this early in the game. If you really understand, like you say you do – then you’ll understand that.”

House nodded, eyes downcast, keeping carefully still as Wilson unfastened the shackle around his wrist, turning House so that his back was to him and immediately replacing the shackles with a pair of metal handcuffs. Wilson frowned when he noticed that House’s hands were clenched tightly into fists, every muscle in his arms taut with his anxious tension. Wilson’s hands closed lightly over House’s fists, and he leaned in close to his ear, trying to ignore the way House’s tension seemed to increase with his touch.

“Shhh,” he soothed House quietly. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

House nodded, biting his lower lips, eyes closed, as Wilson tied the blindfold over his eyes and started to lead him to the bathroom.

They repeated the earlier bathroom routine, Wilson helping House to use the toilet before leading him across the small room to the bathtub. Leaving the blindfold in place, Wilson unfastened the handcuffs, but kept a firm grip on House’s free right wrist as he slid House’s left arm free of the dirty button down shirt he was wearing. Wilson was encouraged that House did not resist as he fastened the other end of the handcuffs to the piping of the bathtub, leaving his left hand bound to the tub and effectively tethering him.

He touched House’s shoulder, trailing his hand slowly over it in a light, affectionate caress before reaching up to untie the blindfold.

“I’m going to trust you with a little bit of privacy,” Wilson informed House softly. “But I’ll be close by. There are no windows in this room. If you try to make enough noise to attract attention from outside, you’ll attract my attention a lot sooner. And… you really don’t want to disappoint me now, House… not now when you’ve just barely started to gain my trust.”

Wilson was still a little suspicious, but he knew that the only way to test the truth of House’s words was to grant him a little bit of room in which to break his trust. With an effort, Wilson made himself turn and walk out the bathroom door, closing it firmly behind him.

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

House was surprised that Wilson had actually left him alone to undress and bathe on his own. A quick survey of the room revealed that really, there was very little for Wilson to worry about in doing so. There was a bar of soap, a soft cloth, and a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the tub, but nothing else – nothing that could even remotely be considered a potential weapon.

The handcuffs allowed House enough freedom of motion to get his shirt and jeans off and get into the tub, but not enough room to reach the toilet or the bathroom counter or any other item in the room. Wilson had obviously made sure that it was perfectly safe to give House this privacy before deciding to do it.

Still, House found himself strangely grateful for the freedom and solitude that felt at this point like a tremendous luxury.

And that’s a bad sign… can’t let him get to me so easily… There’s no reason to be grateful to the guy who’s holding me freakin’ hostage against my will for letting me have a few minutes alone in the bathroom!

That thought reminded House of his secret, and he glanced anxiously toward the door, watching for any sign that Wilson was about to open it, as he unclenched his right fist and looked down at his makeshift weapon in his hand. He was relieved to find that he had managed to hold it in such a way that it had not cut his hand.

House had known that he could not leave the glass in the bedroom, not when Wilson intended to change the sheets while he was gone. He couldn’t take the chance that Wilson might find the piece of glass, and make all his efforts at gaining Wilson’s trust entirely wasted. Despite that one frightening moment when he had been afraid that Wilson might find him out, House had managed to conceal the glass during the trip to the bathroom.

He crouched by the tub, watching the door warily as he hid the piece of glass behind one of the legs of the tub before standing again. He knew better than to be caught with it on his person if Wilson happened to decide to come in and check on him.

House filled the tub with hot water and climbed into it, easing his sore, aching body down into the steaming liquid with a deep sigh of pleasure and relief. He reminded himself that Wilson was doing him no favors by granting him this small liberty, but he couldn’t help but relish the sweet, steamy scent of the water, the soft feel of its heat against his skin.

After about ten minutes, however, House reluctantly started to get ready to get out, wanting to be sure that he was out and dressed and ready to go – with his makeshift weapon well-concealed – before Wilson came back in to take him back to his room. Wilson had left two clean towels and a set of fresh clothes on the floor within House’s reach. House hurriedly dried off and got dressed, tucking the piece of glass into the pocket of his jeans.

When Wilson returned to the bathroom a couple of minutes later, House submitted easily to the blindfold and the handcuffs, passively allowing Wilson to lead him back to the bedroom. Wilson removed the blindfold, and House saw that the bed was freshly made. He also noticed that Wilson had removed the iron shackles and replaced them with a new set, still metal, but lined with soft fabric so as to be less painful on House’s abraded wrists.

As Wilson shackled House to the bed again, he spoke in a quiet voice of obvious gratitude and relief.

“I’m really glad that you’re starting to come around, House. I trusted you – and you proved that my trust was deserved. That’s… not all it’s going to take, but… but it’s a start.” He ran an affectionate hand through House’s hair, and House forced himself to keep still and give Wilson a slight, uncertain smile, rather than following his impulse and jerking away from Wilson’s touch. “I’ll be back in a little while. I’ve got some work to get done this weekend, and I think I’d better get started on it; but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

When Wilson left, House rested his free hand over the tiny bump in the pocket of his jeans, tracing his fingers idly over it as his mind raced, trying to decide the best course of action.

I have to find the right time… the right way to strike… so that I can do enough damage to keep Wilson from stopping my escape, but… without hurting him too bad… I don’t want to kill him… just need to hurt him enough to get away…

House knew that his chances of escape grew slimmer with every day he spent getting used to Wilson’s mind games and manipulations, and he had to find a way to get away as soon as possible.

He also knew that he would have only one chance.

If he tried to escape, and failed – he would not be allowed the chance to try again.

TBC...