Prompt: 117. No one realizes that Wilson is a dangerous, shrewd, cunning, quick-witted man with a secret that would scare the crap out of everyone if Wilson ever revealed it.
Rating: A hard R
Characters: Wilson, House
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor anything like it, just having fun!
Summary: The oversized tennis ball ricocheted closer to me this time - floor to wall to House's hand. His long fingers gripped it tightly enough to whiten at the knuckles. I twitched at every hollow thonk next to my ear, shifting in my chair to lean away from the impact.
Thank you so much to the wonderful karaokegal for the amazing beta! I'll take Full Metal Beta any day. ;)
The oversized tennis ball ricocheted closer to me this time - floor to wall to House's hand. His long fingers gripped it tightly enough to whiten at the knuckles. I twitched at every hollow thonk next to my ear, shifting in my chair to lean away from the impact.
House had been silent for a long time. I tilted my head at him, smiling nervously. "House," I said placatingly, "It's just a date. It doesn't mean anything beyond that." I leaned forward, forearms on my knees.
The tennis ball flew again - floor, wall, hand. House grinned sardonically. "So what happened? Cuddy heard your ex-wives talking about your prowess in the sack?" His voice was too loud; I wondered what the fellows in the next room were thinking.
"House, that's not fair -" The tennis ball skipped the ricochet this time, aimed straight at my face. I ducked, and it flew past me into House's conference room, earning a yelp from Chase. I suppressed a smile - somehow it was always Chase.
Rearranging my expression into shocked anger, I yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you? Last month you were encouraging me to date Lisa, and now -"
House barked out a joyless laugh. "Lisa, is it?" He grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet with an exaggerated leer. "That's pretty familiar. Does she call you Jimmy now?" He hunched his shoulders and lurched into the conference room. "Oh Jimmy, you're so flexible!"
I stood to watch him go. After a beat, I shook my head and left by the hall door. "I guess I should have seen that coming," I muttered as I passed the open door to the conference room, clearly enough to be sure the fellows could hear it. Foreman quirked a disdainful eyebrow at me, surprisingly expressive for an otherwise impassive face. I gave him a glare and stalked past House's office into the dark and quiet of my own.
I expected to have either a few seconds before House burst in, or the rest of the day. I gave him ten minutes, which I spent signing papers in Wilson's careful scrawl. When my door remained closed and unmolested, I leaned far back in my desk chair, hearing it creak as it took my weight. House was quite a character, but far too smart for his own good. I'd been very, very careful, but sometimes the only thing that saved him was the assumption that he knew me, heart and soul.
I don't think he'd like the real James Wilson. Or to be more accurate, he wouldn't like the real me.
Not that he'd have had much tolerance for the real Wilson either. That poor boy was twenty years dead, buried by tons of concrete at my last construction site, back on the west coast. Just a simple kid, heartwarmingly dedicated to being a doctor, saving lives, curing cancer. I met him just out of high school, on his way to university and a medical degree. He took a detour to my apartment, and left it only for his makeshift crypt.
I smiled - those had been several good days. I'd taken his left hand first, in pieces, then his left eye. That took two full days, my bathtub spiraled with blood both dry and fresh. He'd pleaded for the next two days through bloody lips for me to leave him his right hand and eye so he could still practice, still be a doctor. I'd nodded solemnly, as though I agreed, bandaged his wounds, fed him. Then I'd taken my butcher's knife to his remaining thumb. The keening that had caused - remembering it still made me shiver.
I hadn't been able to reach such heights since; once you settle down you need to keep work and play separated, after all. I did still take day trips; weekends spent cruising the freeways for some lost little lamb I could make my own. My face is astonishingly easy to trust, I've been told.
Still, those excursions had by necessity been very short, maybe a day, maybe two. Hardly enough to satisfy my needs.
I pushed myself out of my chair, suddenly restless. Maybe I should end my tenure as Dr. James Wilson; I could hardly achieve the greatness I wanted while signing papers and keeping House happy.
Who would I leave as my farewell note? Cameron, her beautiful face drawn into an even more beautiful rictus of despair? Cuddy, her lush body pared down to clean bones? Foreman, his hands lopped off at the wrists, tongue cut out like the girl in Henry VI? Chase, each pretty feature burnt down to something he'd never be able to bear to look at again? I felt my heart speed up, my breathing grow shallow and quick. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection on my patio door, and bared my teeth in a grin.
Oh, that had felt good. I'd have to remember that particular fantasy for later.
I wasn't ready to give up on my Wilson just yet. He kept me occupied (especially with those sweet children burning bright with cancer), but not enough to curtail my other - activities. And House - House was almost a kindred soul. If he could just get rid of that blasted conscience he kept denying he had, I could show him my true face. Imagine hunting with a partner, someone with the same appetite for torment -
Something crashed on my patio - House's cane. My cue. I took a deep breath, stilling the excited trembling of my limbs.
Gathering Wilson around me like a shroud once again, I opened the door to greet my best friend. My audience was waiting.